


His Mother's Love

by White_Squirrel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ambushes and Sneak Attacks, Deep Magic, Felix Felicis, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Horcrux Hunting, Lily's Protection, Misguided Dumbledore, Powerful Harry, Protection Magic, harry taking charge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-03 22:40:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 33,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14006394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/White_Squirrel/pseuds/White_Squirrel
Summary: Lily’s sacrifice did a lot more for Harry than protect him from Voldemort. It protected him from the worst of his relatives’ abuse, too. But when Dumbledore tells him the whole story, he decides he’s had enough and takes control of his life. Set in sixth year.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. JK Rowling does.
> 
> A/N: I am not a Dumbledore hater. I think he’s a good man who is often sadly misguided, and I usually give him the benefit of the doubt on most things. However, I have a real problem with his actions in Book 1, which, in my opinion, are the two big mistakes that he never apologised for: never checking up on Harry at the Dursleys,” and nearly getting him killed by letting him face Voldemort on his own at school. This is my take on how he might have justified the first one in his mind. I originally made this first chapter a one-shot, but I decided to fill in the gaps later with the rest of the story, show how Harry defeated Voldemort handily with his newfound information.

Harry Potter sat down after being whisked away from the memory of an eleven-year-old Tom Riddle’s first encounter with Albus Dumbledore. He was shaking.

When he didn’t say anything for a moment, Dumbledore spoke. “As you saw, Harry, Tom’s powers were already surprisingly well-developed for a young wizard, and, most interestingly and ominously, he had some degree of control over them—”

“That wasn’t very nice, Professor,” Harry blurted out.

“Excuse me?”

“Setting his wardrobe on fire like that. He obviously had everything he owned in there.”

“Most of it stolen,” Dumbledore observed.

“Sir…” Harry’s jaw worked silently as he tried to reconcile what he had just seen with his own feelings. “I…I think I might have done the same thing if I could have got away with it.”

Dumbledore’s face fell. “What do you mean, Harry?”

“I mean…the only things I ever owned were hand-me-down clothes that were too big for me and broken toys Dudley didn’t want anymore. If I could have stolen a few small things like that without getting caught out by my aunt and uncle, well…I think I just might have.”

Dumbledore gave him a warm smile. “I do not think so. You are not Voldemort, Harry.”

“But…” Harry’s voice was quivering, but he summoned his Gryffindor courage and pushed on. “That boy wasn’t Voldemort yet. I mean, yeah, he was starting to be that way, but it wasn’t too late for him yet if someone had tried to help him. Did you even try—but no, you never tried with me.”

“I do not understand.”

“You knew. You told me last spring you knew I would ‘suffer’ at my aunt and uncle’s house. “Ten dark and difficult years,” you said. You must have known what was going on. You even addressed my first letter to “The Cupboard Under the Stairs.’”

Dumbledore’s eyes went wide with shock. “The cupboard under the…my dear boy, those letters are addressed automatically. I never thought even they would—Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“They moved me out of there as soon as they saw the letter—” Harry said blinking back tears. “And…and I was embarrassed…and I’d finally found a place where I fit in, and I didn’t want to mess it up.”

“Harry, I’m very sorry you had to go through that…Was there anything else?”

“You can probably guess. They made me do all the chores, never gave me anything new. They usually fed me well enough to get by, but there were a couple of times…actually, it was anytime I showed accidental magic. They’d lock me in my cupboard, only let me out to use the bathroom, and I certainly wouldn’t get three squares a day. They only started treating me well last summer because Mad-Eye threatened them—and because I saved Dudley’s life.”

“Ah, well, then, it seems things didn’t turn out too badly in the end,” Dumbledore said cryptically. “And it is getting late,” he said, gesturing to the dark windows outside. “I hope you are not too sleepy to pay attention to this, but I would like to draw your attention to several significant points of this memory.”

“I’m not sleepy, sir.”

But Dumbledore ignored him. “Firstly, did you notice the young Riddle’s irritation at being told to contact another person who shared his first name, “Tom’?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Yes, but—”

“You see, then, that even at that age, he already looked with contempt on anything that made him “ordinary,” that made him like other people—”

“But, sir,” Harry interrupted, “is that really that _important_?”

“Harry, it is of the _utmost_ importance. I believe it was Sun Tzu who first said, ‘Know your enemy.’”

“Professor, my enemy is a self-absorbed, immortality-obsessed psychopath who looks down on everyone else like they’re dirt, foe and ally alike, and the scariest part is, I feel like I already know him far too well.” Dumbledore flinched back. Harry paused and considered whether or not to speak further, but he continued, “Professor, The sixteen-year-old Riddle in the diary told me there were ‘strange likenesses’ between us. I…I hate to say it, but I think he was more right than he knew. In that memory, he was just a scared eleven-year-old boy who had no friends, no adults he felt he could trust, and was terrified of the consequences if anything ‘funny’ happened. That describes my childhood just as well. If I’d been able to control my magic like he did—been able to take control, who’s to say I wouldn’t have turned out the same way?”

“That would have been quite impossible, Harry,” Dumbledore said calmly. “Do you remember what else I told you last spring? The power that Voldemort knows not?”

“Yeah, I remember,” Harry said with annoyance. “It’s love—or so you say. But that’s just it. Even if, somehow, that’s true…Well, it just doesn’t make sense. You keep telling me my greatest strength is love, but what love did I experience growing up? I’m _ten years_ behind the curve on love. It’s only sheer dumb luck that your secret weapon didn’t turn out to be an emotionally stunted wreck or a complete psychopath himself.”

Dumbledore sighed heavily, as if this were a door that he very much didn’t want to open. “It was more than luck, Harry,” he admitted.

“How so?”

“I knew quite well that no matter what happened to you in that house, you would turn out alright.”

“Alright?” Harry said, his voice rising. “You think I turned out alright?”

“I see no reason to think otherwise. You have never been seduced by the Dark Arts—never, even for a moment, been tempted to join Voldemort’s side.”

“Of course I wouldn’t go with Voldemort! He killed my mum and dad! But the Dark Arts? Hagrid had to stop me getting a book of curses to use on Dudley my _first day_ in the magical world. It’s only because I wasn’t allowed to do magic outside of school that I didn’t hex all three them into submission after first year.”

“And you would have felt badly about it. Given the chance, you would have attempted to reconcile with them.”

“Well…maybe…” He remembered last year, when he could easily have let Dudley get Kissed by that Dementor, and that right after Dudley had tried to punch him out and nearly got them _both_ Kissed. But he also remembered storming out after Aunt Marge had insulted his parents for the last time. And then he remembered, tears filling his eyes once again, looking into the Mirror of Erised five years ago.

_All I ever wanted was a decent family._

“Do you see?” Dumbledore said, as if he had heard the thought—and maybe he did. Harry knew he was a Legilimens. “For all the difficulties you have had, you have retained your humanity, which is more than Voldemort can say.”

“But how?” Harry shouted. “How could you possibly know that? How do you know my saving people thing hasn’t been an act this whole time? How do you know hiding everything didn’t turn me into a master Occlumens, and I’m just faking it? How do you know Tom hasn’t been secretly communicating with me through my scar since I was five, waiting for you to slip up so I could finish you off?”

“That would be quite impossible.”

“WHY?!”

“Love! Your mother’s love for you, and through her, the spirit of love that remains strong in you, in spite of everything you have faced.”

“Wha—huh?”

“Tell me, Harry, did your aunt or uncle ever once hit you in that house?”

He thought back. It did seem odd, from what little he knew of the pattern of abuse. “No,” he admitted. “They’d try once in a while, but I always dodged them. And Dudley did, but he was my age, and I was usually quick enough to get away.”

“So none of them ever hurt you badly?” he pressed.

“No, I guess not.”

“Were you ever at a real risk of starving?”

“I don’t know. There were a couple of times I thought they were trying, but…I guess they always just gave up on it…It doesn’t matter, though,” Harry said sharply. “They called me a freak, said I was a burden, told me to my face they never wanted me. All that’s almost as bad.”

“And how did you react to them?”

Harry stopped and thought back—back to what life was like before he’d ever heard about Hogwarts and how he had handled the Dursleys. He’d talk back to them sometimes when he didn’t get his way (not that it ever helped). He’d crack jokes at their expense and run away before they could catch him. It was almost like a game sometimes. Why would he do that if he was so afraid of them the rest of the time? It didn’t add up.

“Your mother’s sacrifice did far more than protect you from Voldemort’s curse that night,” Dumbledore explained. “It protected you from your own relatives in their home—your aunt and cousin, who share your mother’s blood, and your uncle, who is also bound to the charm by his marriage to your aunt. With Lily Potter’s protection upon you, they could not harm you.” He held up a hand. “Yes, I know they treated you badly—worse than even I suspected. But nothing they did could truly have damaged you. They tried to hit you, and they missed, you dodged, they lost their nerve, or they simply didn’t hit that hard, like your cousin. They tried to starve you, and they “gave up on it,” as you said, before you were at serious risk. You see, Harry, they could not have killed you, even if they had tried. Nor could they have done you any lasting injury, either physical _or_ psychological.”

Harry sat frozen, his mind racing, trying to reevaluate everything he knew about his life according to these revelations. Psychological? What, now?

Dumbledore noted the look of confusion on his face and continued: “They neglected you, insulted you, threatened you, punished you for accidental magic, and treated you like their personal house elf. And yet, you shook it all off with ease. You picked up at Hogwarts right where you left off, well-adjusted, making friends, and enjoying yourself. What you went through, Harry, is something no child should have to endure, but you have not only endured, but thrived in spite of it, because your mother’s sacrifice placed on you the protection of her love—a protection both physical and emotional. Her love has always been with you. It flows in your very veins. No matter how much those in your physical presence tried to make you feel unloved—relatives or not—no matter how much the outside world turned against you, she was always with you, supporting you, even if you were not consciously aware of it. And _that_ , my boy, is how I knew you would come to Hogwarts safe and whole, come what may.”

Harry sat speechless as the Headmaster finished his explanation. He ought to be happy about it, he thought. He ought to be happy that his mother had done so much for him, even in death—that her love touched him even from beyond the grave. Dumbledore clearly wanted him to be happy about it—otherwise, it would disrupt the old man’s plans still further. But at the moment, all Harry could feel was a white-hot anger growing within him. What Dumbledore did to him—it was _wrong!_ It was _cruel!_ Maybe all the more cruel for it.

“W-w-why didn’t you tell me all this sooner,” Harry said softly, trying to keep his anger in check. It was a losing battle.

“I confess that my perspective on such things has not always been the best, as I explained to you last spring. In any event, you _have_ , in fact, turned out to be a fine and caring young man.”

“But I never knew any of that!” Harry spat. “I was sure that one of those days they really were going to beat me or starve me or throw me out on the street. What, you let a little kid suffer in an abusive home for ten years without so much as checking up on him just because you knew everything would turn out alright? I wonder if you would have done that if you saw it for yourself. What if you had actually seen that your great Saviour of the Wizarding World was a terrified six-year-old boy cowering in a cupboard on threadbare blankets because he’d got a higher grade than his lazy oaf of a cousin? I wonder how the _rest_ of the wizarding world would react if they knew that’s who they were looking to for a saviour. Maybe we should find out. You can take photos of a Pensieve memory, can’t you?”

“Harry, you wouldn’t do that.”

“Oh, wouldn’t I? After all these years, have you forgotten who my mother _was_? You know what? You’re right. I _can_ feel her love for me. Right now, she’s telling me that that prophecy of yours is missing an “s,” and you’d better watch out because after I’m done taking care of your little Voldemort problem, I’m coming after you next—” But Harry stopped short, his gaze drawn back to the old headmaster’s withered hand. “ _Ohhh_ _…_ but you’re already dying, aren’t you?”

“Harry, this is not the time…”

“Oh I think this is the perfect time, Professor. And I notice you didn’t actually deny it.” Was Dumbledore actually turning pink at those words? “Is that why we’re having these private lessons, Professor? So you can tell me all this oh so _important_ information about Riddle’s childhood before you kick it? Were you planning on telling me this at all, before? Or were you just going to keep hinting at things until I stumbled onto the right answer and nearly got myself killed in the process, like you usually do?”

Dumbledore looked genuinely angry, now, if Harry were still in the mood to care. “My stratagems have not always gone as…cleanly as I’ve hoped,” he grumbled. “Since you insist, it is true that I have far less time remaining than I would like—a year, if I am fortunate, and that did figure into my plans for you. But things are not quite as urgent as you suppose, and it _is_ getting quite late.”

“Oh, no you don’t. Not this time. We’re just getting started.”

“Harry—”

“No. I’m tired of only having half the story. If you really want me to fight Voldemort, then I want to have _all_ the available tools at my disposal. And you are _going_ to give them to me.”

“If you think you are trying to threaten me,” Dumbledore said warningly, not moving from his spot, “you will be sorely disappointed.”

“Don’t be so sure, Professor. I still don’t think you understand what I’m capable of. I’ve got my own private army, remember? There’s about thirty of them still here. Plus, Hermione’s been running all over the Restricted Section looking for ways to fight the Death Eaters—you yourself are the one who keeps saying there are worse things than death.”

The Headmaster was about to reply to that, but even he paled a bit when he saw a pair of eyes like green ice glaring back at him. Severus had warned him once about that look. It was not a look one wanted to cross.

Harry sensed he had gained the upper hand and stepped toward him, bringing them almost nose-to-nose, and spoke with a voice as icy as his gaze: “Now you’re going to tell me everything, and I mean _everything_ about your plan to defeat Voldemort, or I’m going to let that famous Lily Evans temper off the chain.”

* * *

And the rest, as they say, is history.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling. I’m just playing a variation on the theme.
> 
> So I decided to continue this story to show how Harry uses his newfound information and speeds up the timetable of Voldemort’s demise. I have a few more chapters planned, but I make no promises on regular updates. I’ll probably have more in a month or so, once I get through Half-Blood Prince in my re-read of the books.

Albus Dumbledore sat back down at his desk, wondering how he had been outmanoeuvred by a sixteen-year-old boy. He dared not go against the boy’s temper. Oh, he had nothing to fear from him directly. True, there was no doubt as to the seriousness of the threat, and, true, the D.A.—ironically, “Dumbledore’s Army”—was quite loyal to Harry Potter, but even that was not the greatest concern. No, his greatest danger was that he could not afford to drive Harry away from him, not when time was growing so short.

“You wish to know the full plan,” he said slowly, hoping Harry would reconsider, but he didn’t. “Very well. My intent with these lessons was to give you insights into how Voldemort thinks, as it will be very important to outwitting and ultimately defeating him. You have already seen some important points: that he did not want to be like other people, that even at age eleven, he had no friends, nor wanted any, and that he liked to collect trophies—souvenirs from his victims. That, as I will explain shortly, is especially important.”

Harry didn’t see what could be so important about that, but he held his tongue and decided to give Dumbledore a few minutes’ leeway.

“There were other memories I had intended to show you later. I could show you now, if you insist.”

“Why don’t you just summarise them,” Harry said coldly.

The Headmaster frowned, but continued: “Very well. The next memory shows a sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle tracking down his uncle, Morfin, in Little Hangleton. When he learnt that his father was a muggle, he became angry. The details are incomplete, but it is clear that he stole the Gaunt Family Ring, murdered his muggle relatives, and framed Morfin for it.

“The next memory occurred when a twenty-year-old Riddle was working at Borgin and Burkes in Knockturn Alley, where his mother had long before sold the locket of Salazar Slytherin. He traced the locket to a witch named Hepzibah Smith and stole it from her, along with a cup that was once owned by Helga Hufflepuff. For good measure, he killed poor Hepzibah and framed her house elf for it.”

Harry was starting to see a pattern here, though what it could mean still eluded him.

“Third, a decade later, Riddle returned to Hogwarts and applied for the position of Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts.”

“What!” Harry exclaimed.

“What, indeed?” Dumbledore said with a twinkle. “By this time, he was already gathering followers in secret. He may have genuinely wanted the job once, when he graduated, and Headmaster Dippet bid him come back and reapply in a few years. But by then, if he wanted the job at all, which I doubt, it would have been only to recruit more followers, and, more to the point, he must have known I would never give it to him. Unfortunately, of his true motive, I am not certain, but I believe he placed a dark curse on the position during that visit, for since then, no Defence Professor has been able to teach more than one year at Hogwarts. I suspect there may have been other reasons as well, but to know for certain, I need access to the one memory I have not yet been able to get…”

Harry bit. “What memory is that, sir?”

“A memory of one of Professor Slughorn’s interactions with Riddle while he was in school. A memory that he is so ashamed of that he actually gave me a tampered version of it. And here, Harry, is where you truly force me to deviate from my plan.”

“I’m _so_ sorry.”

Dumbledore actually glared at Harry a little for that remark, but he explained: “I had intended to ask you to speak to Professor Slughorn, to see if you, being the Boy-Who-Lived, could convince him to give you the unedited memory. In fact, I must still ask you to do this for me if we are to complete this mission, but I will tell you of what I know—I must insist, however, that you keep this information to only your most trusted friends.”

Harry rolled his eyes and nodded.

“There is a certain type of dark object known as a horcrux. It is the darkest magic known to wizardkind. It is made by the darkest of all acts—murder—which tears at the soul. In the horcrux ritual, one’s soul is torn completely in two, and one of the pieces is placed in a physical object, which can be stored away for safe keeping. As long as the horcrux exists, its maker cannot die, for his soul will not fully leave this world.”

And finally, Harry began to understand the gravity of the situation. He still couldn’t accept the Headmaster’s inexplicable desire to unravel the mystery for him slowly, but he could see how serious this was. “So, then…Voldemort made one of these horcruxes?” he asked. His mouth suddenly turned dry.

“No,” Dumbledore sighed, “I’m afraid not. If it were that simple, he would have been finished for good when you destroyed his diary in your second year.”

Harry’s eyes grew wide. “The diary? That was a horcrux?”

“Yes.”

“So then…he made more than one?”

“At least one other. Last summer, as you may well soon have deduced, I went searching and found another horcrux, which I have since destroyed.” Dumbledore motioned to the ring whose curse was now killing him. “Unfortunately, I have few leads to where the remaining horcruxes are, or indeed, if there even are any more, though I suspect so. I have been searching for clues as to what, where, and how many, but I am lacking a critical piece of information.”

“Professor Slughorn’s memory?” Harry asked sceptically.

“Yes. I have reason to believe that it was Professor Slughorn, in his great and esoteric learning and his well-known desire for fame and influence, who first told a young Tom Riddle about horcruxes. That there was no malice in this action, I am sure. After all, it was merely an innocent question by a gifted and curious student. But if there is any more insight available to us in finding Voldemort’s horcruxes, it will be in that memory, and that is why I must ask you to retrieve it.”

Harry sighed. “Alright, I’ll try and come up with something. In the meantime, sir, you mentioned that locket…and a cup?”

Dumbledore nodded. “Riddle’s trophies from his prominent murders, as I mentioned. Both are almost certainly horcruxes.”

“Do you know of any others?”

“I have a hunch. You may perhaps have noticed the unusual behaviour of Voldemort’s snake, Nagini.”

“Yes—you can make living beings into horcruxes?”

“You can, although it would not be advisable—to the extent that the whole endeavour could be called advisable—since it is not the best idea to use something that can move and think for itself as a vessel for part of one’s soul. But if Voldemort was desperate enough for the extra bit of insurance—though why that would be I don’t know—he may well have done it.”

Harry sat back and digested that bit of information. The locket, the cup, and the bloody snake—those were the things he had to destroy. Oh, and don’t forget Voldemort himself. At least those four.

_At least_ those four, he thought. He gazed into Dumbledore’s eyes, trying his best to perhaps perform a bit of legilimency of his own. But he didn’t need mind magic to identify the thing that was gnawing at the back of his mind.

_Dumbledore_ always _knows more than he says._

“Professor, what aren’t you telling me?” he demanded.

“Whatever do you mean, Harry?”

“I said tell me everything. I just _know_ there’s something you’re not telling me about this horcrux business. There’s another piece to this, and I want to know—”

Harry’s words came back to him. _Another piece._

_You can make living beings into horcruxes._

The pieces started to fall into place: the headaches, the parseltongue, the visions, the “connection” between their minds. No normal magic worked like that. Why should a backfiring Killing Curse carry anything like that with it? Unless it came separately.

“I’m a horcrux, aren’t I,” Harry said gravely.

Dumbledore’s hesitation was all the answer he needed.

“When were you going to tell me that?” he snapped. “You would’ve had to have told me sometime so I could ‘finish the job.’”

“Harry, I—”

“I’m going to have to die to beat him, then? Were you going to put that off till the last minute, too?”

Dumbledore could feel Harry’s magic flaring around him. And why not? The boy must feel like he has nothing to lose after making that logical leap. “No, Harry, it’s not quite as bad as you—”

“Oh? Do you have _another_ ace up your sleeve that I don’t know about,” Harry yelled over him.

“Well…” He did, of course, but the blood protection that would be afforded the entire wizarding world by Harry’s sacrifice was too great an opportunity to pass up.

“ _Everything_ about your plan, remember? If want me to even _consider_ dying for this cause, you’re gonna have to at least have the courtesy to be upfront about it. Now, tell me the truth. Does this plan of yours involve me getting out of it alive? Yes or no?”

Dumbledore hesitated again, but he could tell by now that he couldn’t get away with anything less than the truth. And if he played his cards right, the blood protection wouldn’t be needed—at least not for very long. It was a comparatively small price to pay for the rest of the plan to work. “Yes,” he said dejectedly, wondering how things had spun so far out of control.

“Good,” Harry said. “ _Thank_ you, Professor. Now, was that really so hard?” he added mockingly.

“You still need to be very careful, Harry,” the Headmaster advised. “Even with the best laid plans, facing Voldemort will be very dangerous.”

“You don’t need to tell _me_ that, sir. I’ve faced him five times, now, and nearly died every single time. What I want to know is how I’m supposed to get out of this alive if I’m a bloody horcrux.”

“Language, Harry. There is but one chance,” he said slowly. “Remember what Voldemort did back in that graveyard—how he was brought back to life.”

Harry remembered well. That night was burned into his mind like so many others. But there was only thing about that ritual that could possibly have any bearing on this conversation: “He took my blood.”

“Yes. He took your blood, and with it the protection that Lily placed on you when she died. He took it so that he would be resistant to its effects on him, but if he truly knew what he was doing, I think he never would have dared it. For that protection now runs through Voldemort’s veins, controlling him, influencing him.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Simply put, he cannot kill you—not while the horcrux keeps him bound to you. And no, I cannot be entirely certain of this, Harry, but my guesses have been very good so far. I sincerely believe that if Voldemort strikes you with a Killing Curse delivered from his own hand, the double connection between the two of you will interpose the horcrux in front of your own soul, forcing it to die in your place. And not only his ego, but the psychological influence of the protection itself will cause him to do just that if you give him the opportunity.”

“Give him the opportunity? What, just walk out there and let him try to kill me?” Harry said sceptically. “And what happens after that, exactly?”

“You will survive the curse. But that is also when you will be in the greatest peril. The horcrux part of the connection will be severed. There will no longer be a soul piece that can shield you. And even in the unlikely event that Voldemort’s Killing Curses continue to reflect off of you, he is not so mad that he will not try other, more effective methods.”

“So in other words, if I actually go to face him like that, I’ll still need to kill him before he kills me?”

“Correct—or someone will. If the horcruxes are all destroyed, Voldemort will become mortal, and anyone will be able to kill him.”

“But it’s going to be me, isn’t it? The prophecy…”

“The prophecy is irrelevant,” Dumbledore said shortly. “It is true if you believe it is true, nothing more. Voldemort believes in it, and so, wittingly or not, he brings it about. The horcruxes—they are the reality.”

Harry spelt it out: “So we find and destroy all the horcruxes. I go out and _let_ Voldemort use a Killing Curse on me, which I survive, and then I kill him as soon as possible. That’s your plan in a nutshell?”

“It is.”

Harry sat and stared for a moment.

“And there’s really _no other way_ to get me out of this alive?”

“No, I’m afraid not. And I have searched all the available literature on the subject of horcruxes. I have even made some discreet enquiries with the goblins and their curse-breakers.”

“Fine,” Harry grumbled. He settled back in his chair with a sigh, the full weight of what he had learnt finally hitting him. This plan didn’t sound like a very good way to survive. Relying on his mother’s love was one thing, but fighting Voldemort after losing that protection was quite another. Still…“If that’s the only way to survive, I’ll do it,” he said. “But if I find out you’ve been holding out on me—”

“I assure you I am not, my boy.”

“Good. Because if you are, my _friends_ will make sure you regret it.”

“I understand that you are upset, Harry,” Dumbledore said soothingly. “I thank you for trying to understand the situation. For what it’s worth, I can see that I may have been in error to try to keep you in the dark at this point.” Harry rolled his eyes. “For now, though, there is no great cause for concern. We need merely focus on finding the other horcruxes.”

“Meaning that for now, I just need to work on getting that memory from Slughorn? I assume you’ll let me know if you find any more leads on the horcruxes?”

“Of course, Harry. Now, I believe we are on the same page at this point, so I suggest you get some rest, and I will do the same. After all, this may yet be a reasonable hour for you, but I am not as young as I once was.” Dumbledore started to rise.

“Wait, Professor,” Harry interrupted. “There’s one more thing I want to know.”

“Yes.”

“Do you know who’s trying to kill you?”

Dumbledore sighed. “Draco Malfoy _and_ Severus Snape, though for very different reasons.”

Harry gave a jolt and was struck speechless, trapped between _I knew it!_ about Malfoy and _What?!_ about Snape. “But…that’s…how…” he sputtered, then finally, “Snape’s trying to kill you? Why the hell are you still letting him teach here?”

“Language, Harry. I assure you that _Professor_ Snape has my complete trust.”

“But you just said he’s trying to kill you!”

“Yes. Or, rather, he is _planning_ to kill me.”

“But why—?”

“Because I _asked_ him to.”

If anything, that was an even bigger shock than that Snape was trying to kill him in the first place. Harry could only blink in shock. Yes, Dumbledore was dying, but suicide by Snape? What could possibly possess him to do that?

“There are a number of things that neither you nor anyone else understands about my situation,” the Headmaster said.

“Then explain,” Harry bit out.

“I will, as best I can. There is a certain artifact in my possession—an artifact of great power—a weapon, if you must put it bluntly. But a weapon that is of little practical use to the Light, and which cannot be allowed into Voldemort’s hands. And that is where my plan comes in. For this artifact’s power is very complex—I do not fully understand it myself, but it is tied to my life in a strange way, which is to say that in order to break its power, I must die by my own hand—or, to put it more broadly, by my own _plans_ —on my own terms. And so, since my time already grows unfortunately short, I have arranged for Professor Snape to kill me at an opportune moment, in the sight of the Death Eaters. He will then be back in Voldemort’s full confidence, to work against the Death Eaters from the inside, and my death will work to the greatest possible advantage.

“Needless to say, you must not speak of this plan with anyone. It is imperative that Voldemort has reason to trust Professor Snape implicitly, for if our plans fail, and Voldemort captures the Ministry, then the greatest protection we will be able to give the children of magical Britain will be Professor Snape as Headmaster of Hogwarts. Of course, I hope it does not come to that, but the risk _is_ substantial.

“And before you ask, my boy, I’m afraid I cannot tell you what this artifact is. _None_ must know. None must suspect. There must not be a single hint. For the very knowledge of it is treacherous, even if you do not tell another soul.” Dumbledore trailed off ominously.

Harry digested that for a minute or two and finally said, “You’re crazy.”

“I think it would not be unfair to say that I am desperate,” Dumbledore replied. “You may not agree with this plan, but I hope that you can respect that it has been very carefully laid, and it will change little with regard to the other tasks before us.”

“Maybe,” Harry said. Mentally he was thinking a strong _No_ , but he cared more about getting the rest of the story. “What about Malfoy. What’s he doing?”

Dumbledore sighed sadly. “Professor Snape has informed me that Voldemort has assigned young Draco to kill me, hoping that as a far less experienced wizard, he will die in the attempt, in order to punish his father for his failures.”

“He did…what? That’s sick, even for him!”

“Unfortunately, that is precisely how Voldemort operates,” Dumbledore said. “He may preach loyalty and tradition and pureblood ideals, but he rules solely through fear and power.”

“So you’re just letting him do it?” Harry demanded. “Why aren’t you—I mean, yes, you’re dying, but even if I accept this insane Snape plan, what happens if Malfoy kills you first?”

“I do not believe he will, Harry. You will note that Draco does not appear to be trying very hard. There was very little chance of that necklace reaching my hands without being checked, and he must have known it. He is merely _appearing_ to be making the effort.”

“He still nearly killed Katie, Professor. I think you need to keep a closer eye on him.”

“Professor Snape will keep as close an eye on him as possible. You may, of course, bring continue to bring your concerns to we as well.”

“Don’t worry, sir. I will.”

Dumbledore nodded. “And now,” he said, “it truly is getting late—if not for you, then certainly for me, and I believe you now know all that you need or _will_ need to know, so I think we shall take our leave for the night.”

“Sure,” Harry grunted as he got up to leave. “And Professor?”

“Yes, Harry?”

“Now that we’ve saved some time with these lessons, I _hope_ you’ll have more time to spend looking for horcruxes.”

Dumbledore nodded again and, apparently deciding to throw Harry a bone, said, “If I locate one, Harry, you will be the first to know.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Harry Potter continues to be JK Rowling’s.
> 
> And the story continues, casting a bit wider this time than just Harry and Dumbledore, but I think we can afford a small side plot.

Harry got up weary and disturbed the next morning. With so many secrets dumped on him at once, he didn’t have a chance to tell everything to Ron and Hermione until after Herbology class, during which he vented his frustration by showing the Snargaluff stump who was boss. He was afraid he was going to have to patch up a row between his two best friends when they started arguing about Slughorn’s Christmas party (as if he didn’t have enough to worry about), but they came with him quietly afterwards, if a little standoffish towards each other.

He pulled them into an empty classroom, cast _Muffliato_ (to Hermione’s disapproval), and started explaining everything he had coerced out of Dumbledore last night. Both Ron and Hermione grew increasingly pale as he talked, their argument long forgotten. They both gasped in horror when they learnt the Dumbledore was dying, ranted for a solid ten minutes at the insanity of his plan for Snape to kill him (to hell with Dumbledore telling him not to tell them about that, he decided), and stared in awe when he told them about the horcruxes. When he dropped the final bombshell, that Dumbledore’s master plan involved him surviving the Killing Curse again, Hermione burst into terrified tears and threw her arms around him.

“I know it sounds pretty bad—” he started.

“Bad?” she yelled. “Dumbledore’s lost his mind! How can you go along with such an insane plan?”

“Because I don’t have any other choice,” Harry said grimly. “If I’ve got a horcrux in my head, I’ve gotta get it out somehow, right?”

“But it’s nuts,” Ron argued. “It’s completely barmy. It’s so crazy—well, how do you know Dumbledore’s not lying about that?”

“Because it all makes sense—the visions, the headaches, sensing his emotions. Besides, why would Dubledore lie? He doesn’t have anything to gain if he’s dying.”

“He could be lying about that, too.”

“I don’t think so. You didn’t see how shook up he was last night. Plus, you’ve seen his hand all year. I think he’s telling the truth.”

“But fighting Voldemort head on?” Hermione whined. “Even if you do survive the first hit, you can’t beat him on your own.”

“I know, but maybe I won’t have to. Maybe we can get the Order to help when the time comes.”

“And what if Dumbledore’s wrong?” she pressed. “Even he’s not perfect.”

“I know,” Harry agreed. “Listen, I think he _is_ right, as crazy as it sounds. But if he’s not, that’s where you two come in.”

“What?” Hermione and Ron said in unison. Hermione finally broke away from Harry.

“You two are my insurance policy. If I die, I want you to make the rest of Dumbledore’s life as much of a living hell as possible.”

“Harry, you shouldn’t talk about such things!” Hermione gasped.

“I mean it, though. Dumbledore hasn’t lied, but he’s held back a lot until now. If he hadn’t, Sirius might still be alive. He admitted that last spring, and yet he still tried to do it to me again. No more. I want to make sure he has a reason to not back out this time.”

Harry’s friends recoiled at the fierceness and intensity in his voice. Experience aside, if they were looking for a warrior, here he was.

“Wow, Harry…” Ron started. “I had no idea…well, we’re with you mate, right, Hermione?”

“I…well, I guess so,” she said. “I still think it’s crazy, but if that’s what you have to do…”

“Thanks, guys,” Harry said with a sigh of relief. “I know I can count on you.”

“So how’re you gonna get that memory from Slughorn?” Ron asked eagerly.

“I just figured I’d stay after next Potions class and bully it out of him,” Harry replied.

“Really? Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Hermione said. “It seems so…crude.”

“Why not? It worked on Dumbledore. And I doubt it’s something Dumbledore would have tried himself.”

“Hmm…no, probably not,” she admitted. “I just hope you don’t push him away. You might try and think if there’s any other way to get him to talk.”

“I’ll try,” he assured her, “but I doubt there’s much that’ll work better.”

* * *

 

The trio went on their way for the rest of the day. They tried not to let any outward signs of their trouble show, but they weren’t entirely successful, as Ginny and Neville kept giving them strange looks from their respective directions. And it certainly didn’t stop Hermione from sitting up late that night, after everyone else had gone to bed, curled up on a sofa in the Common Room with a book in her lap, but not reading it, instead just staring into the fireplace.

“Can’t sleep?” Ron appeared next to her, making her jump. He sat beside her on the couch.

“Haven’t even tried,” she muttered, scooting a little closer to him without thinking about it. “Too much on my mind.”

“Yeah, just when you think you’ve got it all figured out…” he mused. “All the other stuff doesn’t seem so important now.”

“I know,” Hermione said, her voice quivering. “Letting Voldemort kill him—they’ve both gone mad, haven’t they.”

“I don’t know,” Ron said, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Maybe. I always said you gotta trust Dumbledore, and then I said you gotta trust Harry, but this…I don’t know.”

She leaned a little closer to Ron in her seat. “Even if it’s all true, it’ll still be incredibly dangerous. Harry going up against Voldemort…I don’t know what to think anymore. It’s like everything’s upside-down.”

“Wow, that’s a first,” Ron smirked. “Hermione Granger doesn’t know what to think.”

“Prat.” She smacked him in the arm, but she settled back and leaned against him with her head on his shoulder. “Ron…” she said softly. “ _Would_ you like to go to the Christmas party with me?”

The combined effect made Ron go very still. “What?” he said. “Y-y-you still want me to go with you, after what I said?”

“Well, you’re right, honestly. The club is a little silly, especially the name. And anyway, McLaggen’s so full of himself, I’m sure he’d make a completely horrid date, and it’s really not worth it just to make you jealous.”

“J-j-jealous?” Ron said, his voice cracking.

Hermione turned and shot him a mischievous grin. “Besides, it looked like just _suggesting_ it was enough to do that. I might have noticed that earlier if I’d been paying attention.”

“But, y-y-you—you— _wanted_ to ask me…?”

“I did—I do. You’ve been there for me…well, most of the time—it was you and Harry who were there for me from the start…and I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather go with.”

“Wow…” he whispered. “I’d…I’d love to go with you.”

He felt her sort of relax into his side, and he cautiously put an arm around her waist, but it wasn’t long before she started trembling slightly.

“Are you okay, Mione?” he said.

“I don’t know…No, I’m not—not yet, anyway. It’s just, with Dumbledore’s plan, it sounds like we’re so close to winning, but we’re so close to losing at the same time…I’m scared Ron—I’m really scared.” She turned her head and dried her tears on his shoulder.

In a similar situation three years earlier, Ron had frozen in terror, but this time, he had a decent response. Slowly, he took Hermione’s hand in his free one and pulled her onto his lap, holding her close. “Me, too, Hermione,” he whispered. “Me, too.”

* * *

 

Harry didn’t have any other ideas, so he stuck with his initial plan: after the next Potions class, during which Professor Slughorn again praised him for the skills he had secretly acquired from the Half-Blood Prince, he dawdled at putting his things away so that he could talk to the old man alone.

“Well, then, brilliant work again, Mr. Potter. I can certainly see that you’ve inherited your mother’s talent,” Slughorn said.

Harry let him go right on thinking that. “Thank you, Professor. There was something I wanted to talk to you about, today,” he said innocently.

“Of course, of course, my boy, anything.”

In a blink, Harry’s expression flipped from innocent to intense and accusatory: the same Lily Evans temper of which he had given Dumbledore a taste. He waved his wand, and the classroom door closed and locked. “Dumbledore told me everything,” he said.

Slughorn stepped back, suddenly looking shocked and terrified: “He told you…he told you about my past, then?”

“More than that, Professor. Everything. About Voldemort’s past, the horcruxes, his plan to defeat him—”

“He has a plan?” Slughorn said hopefully.

“Yes, he has a plan. It’ll work…I’m going to kill him.” Harry wasn’t exactly convinced of that, but he went with it.

“You?” Slughorn said in shock. “ _You_ are going to kill…him? But then…you _are_ the Chosen One?”

Harry sensed an opportunity and seized it: “Yes, I am the Chosen One. We have a plan, Dumbledore and I. But we’re missing one thing.”

Slughorn grew pale and raise a nervous hand to his mouth, as if he knew what was coming next. “And what is that?” he whispered.

“We need to know what you told Tom Riddle about horcruxes.”

The old professor let out an anguished groan. “He tried,” he said. “I told him to leave well enough alone, but he tried to get me to tell him.”

“Only because it’s so important,” Harry insisted.

“I don’t have anything more to say to you,” Slughorn said. He got up to leave.

“You gave Dumbledore a tampered memory,” Harry cut him off. “You’ve got something to say that was worth doing that.”

Slughorn was growing quite pale and sweaty by now. “If Dumbledore’s told you everything,” he said stiffly, “you’ll know that You-Know-Who can’t be killed unless you destroy all his…” he gulped and whispered, “horcruxes. So, it would really serve no purpose, then. It won’t help you.”

“Yes, it will. We’re going to destroy the horcruxes.”

Slughorn stopped and regarded Harry with a strange look, no doubt weighing his words against the fact that he was, indeed, the Chosen One. “Do you really think you can do it?” he whispered hopefully.

“ _Yes_ , we can do it. We’ve already destroyed two. And we’ve identified three more, and we’re going to find and destroy them, too.” By the math that Voldemort believed was correct, that was. “We just need to know how many others there are.”

Harry could have sworn he saw Slughorn mouth “One,” but it quickly passed.

“If you know anything…” he continued. “If you told Riddle something…”

“I…you know I did, Harry…but this is…You are asking me to help you destroy him. That’s a very great task.”

With that, Harry’s suspicions were confirmed. It was an easy guess, after all. Slughorn had been on the run for a year while the Ministry was claiming everything was fine. “You’re scared,” he said. “You’re scared he’ll find out you told me.”

“Well…I…yes,” Slughorn said. “I am not proud to say it, but I am very much afraid of You-Know-Who, and you should be, too, if you have half as much sense.”

“But Professor,” Harry said comfortingly. “Dumbledore’s here. No one can touch you at Hogwarts while he’s Headmaster…” Slughorn started to relax. “At least while he’s still alive.”

The old man turned as white as a sheet. “Wh-wh-what?” he said, covering his mouth with his fat hands.

“Dumbledore’s dying,” Harry said darkly. “He doesn’t want people to know, for obvious reasons, but he won’t be here for the next school year.”

“Dying?” Slughorn breathed, clapping his hands over his mouth. “He can’t be.”

“He is though—don’t mention this to anyone, but did you see his hand? He doesn’t have a lot of time left, but he’s given it to me to finish the job. Now, think about it, Professor. Voldemort knows what you know. And if he’s really after you, it’s only a matter of time. Your best chance is for us to carry out our plan before Dumbledore dies. I can’t guarantee that, but the only way we can be sure is if you help me.”

Slughorn didn’t speak. He seemed paralysed in horror. But Harry had one last arrow in his quiver: “My mother died to save me, sir,” As he stared at him, Slughorn saw Lily Evans’s eyes boring into him. “That’s my weapon against Voldemort—her love was the shield he couldn’t penetrate. He thought he had it beat when he came back, but he doesn’t know how much power it gave me over him.” Those were Dumbledore’s words through and through, which he didn’t entirely believe anymore, but he suspected they would make a greater impact on the Potions Master. “All I need is the last piece, and then I’ll be ready.”

Slughorn was silent for a long time. Finally, he said, haltingly, “I am…I am ashamed of that memory, Harry. I fear what damage my unthinking words have done…”

“The best thing you could do to make up for it would be to help me defeat him, sir,” Harry said quietly.

There was an even longer silence, but Harry kept the old man fixed with his eyes, and he finally cracked. Reaching for a spare potion bottle with one hand, he drew a long, silvery tendril from his head with his wand and placed it inside. “I hope you don’t think too badly of me,” he said. “You would have made a frighteningly good Slytherin, Harry. Just like your mother.”

Harry smiled: “Well, sir, the Sorting Hat would have put me there if I’d let it. Thank you, Professor.” And with that, he left the room, leaving Slughorn to contemplate that last bit alone.

As he left, Harry resolved to do like Dumbledore did and pass along a message to him through the first professor he saw, who happened to be Snape. “Professor! Professor!” he called. Snape stopped and turned around, glaring at him. Harry refrained from bringing up the whole killing Dumbledore matter and just said, “The next time to see Professor Dumbledore, sir, could you please tell him that I did his homework?” Harry said.

Snape betrayed a small widening of his eyes, and then nodded: “I will be sure to tell him, Potter.”

* * *

 

Ginny Weasley entered the Common Room to find Ron and Hermione sitting by themselves off to the side. Her eyes narrowed. Those two had been acting very strange yesterday, and they were still acting very strange today. And so was Harry, what little she saw of him. She was going to get to the bottom of this.

“Alright, what’s going on with you two and Harry?” she asked them.

Ron and Hermione jumped. “What? Nothing!” Ron said.

“What makes you think something’s going on,” Hermione added nervously.

“Well, for one thing, you two are holding hands—” Both of them yelped and snatched their hands back. “—and you don’t even look happy about it. Oh, come on, don’t look at me like that. You’ve been moping around for two days, now. Did you think I wouldn’t notice? And Harry keeps running off by himself, and he’s been moping too, except for one time he looked like he wanted to kill someone. What’s wrong? Did somebody die, and I didn’t hear about it?”

Ron and Hermione looked at each other nervously. People were _going_ to die, but not yet. “We’re not really supposed to say,” Hermione said.

“You’re not supposed to say?” Ginny said incredulously. “Why not? You’ve always told me everything from the Order.”

“But this is different,” Hermione snapped. “It’s…At the very least, it’s Harry’s prerogative, and maybe Dumbledore’s. If you want to know, you really need to ask Harry.”

Ginny bit her lip. “Is something wrong with Harry?” she asked.

“Well, not exactly…”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Dumbledore told him—” Ron started.

“Ron!” Hermione said.

“What?”

“I just said—Look, Ginny, I don’t know if we should really even be telling you this much…But Professor Dumbledore told Harry his plan to defeat Voldemort.”

Ginny sat down, wide-eyed, and whispered, “He did?”

“Yeah, and it’s pretty messed up,” Ron said. “What?” he added when Hermione glared at him.

“The plan’s going to be really dangerous for Harry,” Hermione said. “We’re worried about him. He seems to think it’ll work, but he still doesn’t like it much himself. Honestly, there’s a lot of things that could go wrong.”

“Doesn’t he have another choice?” Ginny said.

“He doesn’t seem to think so.”

“Well, that’s dumb,” Ginny said testily. “What _is_ the plan? What’s he supposed to do?”

“We can’t—” Hermione started, but Ron laid a calming hand on her shoulder. “Ginny, if you really want to know, you need to ask Harry. When you get down to it, it’s really only his place to tell it.”

“Fine, then I guess I will.”

Ginny had to wait a while to talk to Harry. It wouldn’t have surprised her if he stayed out well past curfew, but about a half hour before, he stumbled through the portrait hole, looking as mopey and annoyed as ever. He didn’t even look at Ginny before sitting down on a sofa by the fire.

Ginny ignored the slight and simply got up and crossed the room to sit next to him. “Hey, Harry,” she said with a weak smile.

Harry glanced at her: “Hey, Ginny.”

“So, Dumbledore finally told you his plan, huh?”

Harry snapped to alertness and broke into a cold sweat. “Um…how much did Ron and Hermione tell you?” he whispered.

“Only that it’s going to be really dangerous for you, and you don’t like it, but you’re gonna do it anyway…which kinda sounds a lot like your last five years here.”

“Ugh. Don’t remind me. I can blame Dumbledore for a lot of that, too.”

“So why are you still following him, then?”

“Because he knows what he’s doing. Mind you he’s made a lot of pretty awful mistakes—a lot of it’s his fault that Sirius…But he’s been fighting Voldemort longer than anybody. I don’t have to like him, but he’s got the best idea of how to defeat him.”

Ginny sat silently as she thought that over. She knew there were problems between Harry and Dumbledore after the Ministry, but she was surprised that they had suddenly become so public, and that they were hitting Harry this hard. “Can you tell me what the plan is?” she ventured.

“No, sorry,” he said. “Dumbledore only wanted me to tell Ron and Hermione.”

Well, that figured, she thought. It didn’t help that she noticed that he was still avoiding his gaze. “Harry, look at me,” she ordered.

He turned to face her with a hint of surprise on his face.

“Look, I won’t ask you to tell me what the plan is, but can you please just tell me, is it dangerous?”

He nodded. “Very.”

“Do you have any other options?”

“Not really.”

“Do you think it’ll work?”

Harry took a deep breath and thought over the plan again. “Yeah,” he said, “I think it will.”

“Good. Then I trust you with it.”

Harry’s countenance darkened guiltily at that pronouncement. “It’s not that I don’t trust you—” he started.

“No, I get it. It’s not about you, Harry, it’s just that everyone always keeps things from me because I’m the youngest. And it’s not like I don’t know almost as many secrets as you three. I mean, I spent a whole summer with you at Headquarters, for heaven’s sake.”

“Well, there is that. You know, it really wasn’t fair for your Mum to keep you out of the meetings and not Ron when everybody knew we’d just tell you everything anyway.”

“Yeah, grown-ups,” she grumbled.

“I know, right?” Harry said. “And frankly, Dumbledore hasn’t given me much reason to follow him around blindly like I used to, so…” He lowered his voice and leaned closer to her. “You’re probably better off at least knowing the basics…”

“Ginny?” they were interrupted by an annoyed-sounding voice, and they both looked up to see Ginny’s boyfriend, Dean Thomas, who had just entered the Common Room. “What’s going on here?”

Ginny closed her eyes and took a deep breath to hide her annoyance. “We were talking about the war,” she said.

“What about it?” Dean said.

“None of your business.”

“Why shouldn’t it be?”

“Because this is about what Harry and Dumbledore are doing. They don’t want too many people to know.”

Dean forced down his obvious urge to play the boyfriend card and said, “Fine, do your thing, then.”

“Never mind,” she retorted. “Harry, we can talk about this later.” She got up and went with Dean.

“You can talk to me, too, you know,” Dean told her once they were alone.

“Yes,” she said, “but I told you, Dean, there’s a lot that I can’t say.”

“But you can say it to him?” he said testily.

“ _Yes_. Because Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I have been through a lot more together than you and I have. It’s a lot different when you’ve actually fought Death Eaters yourself.”

Dean got an uncomfortable look on his face at that. If there was one thing that annoyed Ginny about him, it was his classic male need to feel like he was the more capable one in their relationship. “Well, Harry’s got his own friends,” he said.

“I’m his friend, too! And in case you haven’t noticed, he’s the one facing down Voldemort around here. He needs all the support he can get.”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. But you know I’m here for you, right?”

“I know. And that’s very sweet of you, but I can take care of myself.”

* * *

 

Slughorn’s memory was anti-climactic, in Harry’s opinion. There were no deep insights into the young Tom Riddle’s mind, no hints as to what he may have used for his horcruxes or where he hid them—only an unhealthy obsession with the number seven.

“So that’s it, then, Professor? Seven horcruxes?” Harry said when Slughorn’s memory ended.

“Correct, Harry,” Dumbledore replied. “Or, to clarify, six _intentional_ horcruxes, to make seven pieces. The seventh I have already explained how to deal with.”

Harry sighed, as if he needed another reminder. “So we destroyed two of them,” he said slowly. “And we know three more—the locket, the cup, and Voldemort’s snake, but we don’t know where. So that just leaves one?”

“Correct again. I believe we have identified all but one of Voldemort’s horcruxes. As for the last one, I cannot be certain.”

Harry rolled his eyes at the Headmaster. _Dumbledore_ always _knows more than he says_ , he reminded himself. “Have a guess, then.”

Dumbledore’s eyes began to twinkle. “My guess,” he began, “is that after the diary and the ring, which were proof of his own noble heritage, Voldemort desired to make his remaining horcruxes out of relics of each of the four Founders. He would have been entranced by their power, and he no doubt considered that their historical value would provide that extra bit of protection from those who might hunt them. You have seen that he successfully obtained relics from Slytherin and Hufflepuff. I cannot be certain if he ever found anything of Ravenclaw’s, but I do know that the only known relic of Gryffindor’s remains safe.” He gestured to the Sword of Gryffindor, glistening in its glass case.

Harry stared at the sword, wondering if that was what Voldemort had truly sought when he returned to the school all those years ago. But then, a thought struck him—one of those silly, little, unimportant memories that you somehow remember forever, even if you can’t remember where you put your keys that morning. “But Professor,” he said, “there are _two_ known relics of Gryffindor’s.”

“Two relics of Gryffindor’s?” Dumbledore said bemusedly. “Whatever do you mean, my boy?”

“It was two years ago,” Harry said, and then he began quoting a snatch of a song: _“‘Twas Gryffindor who found the way. He whipped me off his head. The Founders put some brains in me so I could choose instead_!’”

The old wizard’s mouth hung open, and he turned around to look at the shelf on which the Sorting Hat sat. Then, he laughed heartily for what seemed the first time in a long time.

It took Harry a moment to realise that the Hat was laughing, too, and then it spoke, initiating conservation with someone who wasn’t wearing it for the first time Harry had seen. “The boy’s got a good memory, Dumbledore,” it said, “but I think someone would have noticed if the artifact that probes every eleven-year-old’s mind every year suddenly turned evil.”

“Right you are,” Dumbledore replied. “Excellent deduction, Harry, and I think we can say that _both_ of Gryffindor’s relics are safe.”

“So the last one probably belonged to Ravenclaw?” said Harry.

“I believe that is by far the most likely possibility.”

That was convenient, Harry thought. He was friends with a Ravenclaw who knew a lot of strange and esoteric things. “So how do we destroy the horcruxes?” he asked.

“I’m afraid there are only a handful of ways,” the Headmaster answered, “all of them difficult and dangerous, and only one which you could wield at your age—the one you have already used once before.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “A basilisk fang,” he whispered. And then, he could have slapped himself. He had left a huge, highly magical, and probably very valuable basilisk corpse down in the Chamber of Secrets to rot four years ago. “Sir, I could get a basilisk fang—” he started.

“That will not be necessary, Harry, for you have been so kind as to give us an alternate method.”

“Huh?”

“The Sword of Gryffindor is made of no ordinary steel. It is goblin silver. Goblin silver is one of very few substances that can repel the corrosive effects of basilisk venom. In fact, it _absorbs_ it, for goblin silver imbibes that which strengthens it. As a result of slaying the basilisk, the sword can now also destroy horcruxes, and, in fact, has already destroyed one.” Dumbledore raised his withered hand with the cracked ring on it.

“Great,” Harry said sincerely. “I think we have a plan, then.”

“I think we do. And I think you may run along to bed, now. I will inform you as soon as I have learnt more.”

“Yes, sir. Good night.”

But Harry didn’t go straight to bed that night. He went up to his dorm, but only long enough to get his broomstick and invisibility cloak. Using these, he made a quick and unnoticed trip to the Chamber of Secrets, where he carefully extracted two deadly fangs from the exposed skull of the basilisk. He wasn’t about to rely wholly on a sword that was locked up in Dumbledore’s office. He wrapped them carefully in an old shirt and hid them at the bottom of his trunk, even below the Felix Felicis potion.

There was no need to tell Dumbledore about that bit just now, and if he could surprise the old man with them later, so much the better.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: As always, Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling.
> 
> Just some fluff in this chapter, although it may be important to a plot point or two later. More action coming soon.

Ginny being Ginny, she knew enough not to let Harry stew too long, and within a couple of days, she managed to catch him in the Common Room alone again.

“Hey, Harry,” she said cordially as she sat down beside him on the sofa.

“Hey, Ginny.”

“So…” she leaned in and whispered, “did you still want to tell me what’s going on with Dumbledore and Voldemort?”

Harry took a deep breath and said, “Okay, so here’s the real story.” And then he told her all about his meetings with Dumbledore, starting with the prophecy last spring all the way to the final plan for the horcruxes. Ginny’s reaction was much the same as Ron’s and Hermione’s, except that her famous temper showed through even more. It was easily as strong as his own, and she was less restrained about it. She certainly wasn’t about to take the part about Harry letting Voldemort kill him lying down.

“Harry, do you realise how insane that sounds?” she demanded.

“Yes, and even if I hadn’t, Ron and Hermione already set me straight. But Dumbledore’s right. I’ve got to get this _thing_ out of my head. You’ve had firsthand experience with a horcrux. You know how dangerous they are.”

“But letting him kill you to get rid of it? Are…are you sure…”

“I think so. I think I knew even before Dumbledore told me. I knew there was something funny about my scar, and I knew it wasn’t going to be easy to finish it. I may not like Dumbledore much, but I believe him.”

Ginny grumbled and ranted for a few more minutes. Harry just let her; he knew better than to get in her way in that state. Finally, she ran out of steam and sat back down on the sofa. Her voice and hands were trembling. “Harry, aren’t you scared?” she asked.

Harry felt his own calm facade starting to crack. “I’m terrified,” he whispered.

“Harry…” Ginny pulled him into a tight hug so that she could feel his heart pounding against her chest. They didn’t let go until both their hands had stopped shaking, but they stayed close together, looking each other in the eye. Harry started to get a strange sensation in his chest that he couldn’t identify.

“Harry, you know we’ll fight with you, right?” Ginny finally said.

Harry started to shake his head.

“Don’t,” she said fiercely. “I’ve got almost as much reason to want him gone as you do. He possessed me; he almost killed my dad; his flunkies tried to kill me and Ron and all of you guys. I have every right to fight. And if you say one word about me being too young, I will hex you into next week.”

Harry held up his hands: “I wasn’t going to. To be honest, when it comes to the end, it would be good to have help taking him down. I just don’t want anyone thinking they _have_ to fight just because they’re my friend.”

“Harry, we have to fight because Voldemort’s an evil son of a bitch, and we want to get rid of him once and for all.” She took his hand in both of hers. “We’ll all be there for you—everybody who was at the Ministry with you, at least. You don’t have to do this alone.”

Harry smiled weakly. “Thanks, Ginny,” he said.

“You know…Maybe you should restart the D.A., too.”

“What?”

“You said you wanted help in the final battle. The more people we have, the better off we’ll be.”

“Yes, but if we tell people we’re training to fight Voldemort himself…”

“I think you’ll have some takers. Not as many as before, but there’s already been so many people hurt by this war—and the last one—that plenty of them want to end it as much as we do. I told you Harry, you don’t have to do this alone, _okay_?”

Slowly, Harry nodded and whispered, “Okay.” He let Ginny hug him again.

“What are you doing?!”

Harry looked up to see that Dean Thomas had just come into the Common Room. He instinctively pushed Ginny away so fast she would have fallen on the floor if she hadn’t jumped to her feet.

“I was giving Harry a hug, Dean,” she said with aggravation.

“What for?”

“Because he’s my friend. If you must know, we were talking about the war, and how Harry’s going to have to fight Voldemort.”

“Dean, I—” Harry started.

“Stay out of this, Potter!” Dean cut him off.

“Hey, don’t talk to Harry like that!” said Ginny. “ _I_ hugged _him_ because he needs support, not _you_ barging in and interrogating him.”

“Well, you don’t need to be all over him like—”

“I’m going to comfort my _friends_ any way I can, Dean,” she cut him off, “and I’m not going to let you stop me.”

“I—ugh, fine,” Dean threw up his hands. “I don’t see what the big deal is, though.”

“Well, for one,” Ginny sniped, “Harry has a very difficult and dangerous plan to get rid of Voldemort once and for all, and we’re going to help him. It would be really great if you would help us too, you know.”

“Us?” Dean said sceptically.

“Yes, us. Everyone who cared enough about Harry and ending this war to risk our lives and follow him to the Ministry last spring.”

Suddenly, Dean deflated with both shame and concern. “Ginny, you don’t need to fight for him,” he said with a sigh.

“Yes, I do.”

“This isn’t your fight.”

“The hell it isn’t! Remember how I was possessed and almost died my first year. That was Voldemort who did that. Harry understands that.”

“Well, why don’t you date him instead, then?” Dean snapped.

“Maybe I will! At least he appreciates my fighting skills.”

Dean stepped back as if he’d been struck. Neither of them seemed to realise what they were saying until it was too late to take it back. Dean looked horrified, but Ginny had a determined expression.

“Ginny, I’m sorry,” Dean said. “I didn’t mean…I mean, I know you were great in the D.A. It’s just…I thought after what happened at the Ministry…”

“Well, I thought we did pretty well for ourselves considering it was sixth fourth and fifth years against twelve Death Eaters—Sorry, Harry, I know that’s probably not what you want to hear.”

“But you all could have been killed!” Dean protested. Harry flushed and started to edge away, slumping a little.

“I know, but at least we’ll have a plan next time.”

“Or you could just stay out—”

“You know what, Dean? Just cool it.” she snapped. “I’m done talking to you about this. I’m going to help Harry beat Voldemort. You can come along and help if you get your head out of your arse.” She turned and stomped up the stairs.

Dean and Harry were left staring after her in the empty Common Room.

“Dean, I—” Harry tried again.

“Just shut it, Potter!” Dean grumbled, and he stomped up the stairs to their own dorm.

* * *

 

Dean tried to patch things up with Ginny after that, but anyone who was paying attention could tell something had changed between them. While their relationship kept limping along for another week, their row seemed to have uncovered something truly incompatible between them, and they gradually stopped talking to each other. Harry would have been happy to remain blissfully ignorant of this, but in his anger, Dean had turned down that spot on the Quidditch Team he’d wanted so much, forcing Harry to play an overeager Seamus.

Fortunately for the team, Ginny seemed much more angry than distraught over Dean, and she channelled that anger into Quidditch. She was already good enough to make up for Seamus, so Harry wasn’t too worried about the match—well, at least if Ron didn’t fall apart.

In the meantime, new whispers started to circulate around Hogwarts: “Dumbledore’s Army—still recruiting.” (Harry wasn’t so fond of the name anymore, but Hermione pointed out the value of name recognition.) That and the horcrux issue were more pressing. Harry reviewed what he knew over and over again, hoping to find something new. There were five horcruxes. Four of them were identified. Two of their locations were known, and Dumbledore was (hopefully) on the trail of another. One they couldn’t identify, but it had most likely belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw.

Hermione hadn’t been any help at finding the Ravenclaw horcrux. The girl was smart and well-read, but it tended to be along more practical lines, or at least that was the conditioning she had received after five years of nearly dying on a regular basis. Something as open-ended as a mysterious artifact of the Founders was straining her rusty esoteric research skills.

“The problem is that so much of the history of the Founders’ time is nothing but legend,” she said. “These stories are about as historical as Robin Hood. We don’t even know what year the school was founded anymore, much less what specific magical artifacts anyone used.”

Harry was swiftly coming to the conclusion that he needed the help of his _other_ resource on the esoteric. He found her wandering the corridors up on the fifth floor. It was anybody’s guess why, and he didn’t bother asking.

“Hello, Luna,” he called.

The odd blond girl turned around: “Hello, Harry.”

“Luna, do you think you could give me a hand with something?”

“Of course, Harry. What do you need?”

“Well, you know about more random and unusual stuff than anybody else I know. Do you happen to know of any artifacts that belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw that are still around?”

“Well,” the blond girl said dreamily, “the only one I know of is Ravenclaw’s Lost Diadem, which is said to enhance the wisdom of the wearer. Daddy’s been trying to replicate it.”

“That sounds like just what I’m looking for,” Harry said. “Do you know where it…It’s lost, isn’t it?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so. No one’s seen it for hundreds and hundreds of years. But if you want to know what it looks like, you can come up to the Ravenclaw Common Room. There’s a replica of the Diadem on a bust of Rowena Ravenclaw there.”

“Well, it’s better than nothing,” he said. “Let’s go.”

Luna quickly led him up to the Ravenclaw Common Room. The bust of Rowena Ravenclaw looked out from an alcove in the back of the room with a half-quizzical smile. It had clearly been made in her younger years, or middle age at the latest—Rowena Ravenclaw had been a beautiful woman—but the look of great intellect was clearly etched on her face. A delicate-looking circlet of marble was perched on her head, the marble filigree so fine that it could not have even been _carved_ , much less preserved down the centuries, without magic. And etched into the marble diadem in tiny letters of cursive script were the words, _Wit beyond measure is man_ _’s greatest treasure_.

And it gave Harry absolutely no clue as to where the real one was.

“Well, at least I know what it looks like, now. Thanks, Luna. And let me know if you happen to find the real one.”

“Of course, Harry.”

* * *

 

Harry smirked to himself at his little trick of making Ron _think_ he’d slipped him Felix Felicis. Hermione would probably kill him for it later, but it served her right for Confunding McLaggen during tryouts. Okay, she had probably done everyone a favour by doing that, but still, his plan was working perfectly: Ron was saving every single goal. And even with Seamus as the weak link, Ginny was cleaning up on offence. Harry wasn’t sure how he had never noticed before how brilliant she was, and he caught himself getting distracted watching her once or twice.

“Looks like Harper’s seen something Potter hasn’t,” Zacharias Smith smirked from the commentator’s podium. Harry rolled his eyes. Smith had been making snide remarks about the Gryffindor team for the whole match. But then, his heart sank: Harper really was zooming toward the Golden Snitch. Harry laid flat on his broom to pursue him, but even with his _Firebolt_ , there was no way he could catch up in time.

“Oi, Harper!” he yelled. “How much did Malfoy pay you to play for him?”

Harper flinched just enough to fumble the catch, and the Snitch slipped through his fingers. Before he could recover, Harry swooped in and caught it. “YES!” he roared. “We won!” The team swarmed in for a midair group hug. “Ginny we won—hey, where are you going?”

Ginny—probably the best flier on the team after Harry—“forgot to brake” and crashed directly into Zacharias Smith on the podium.

Harry laughed as he spiralled down to the ground. Ginny could do the wildest things, he thought. She clearly shared her troublemaking genes with the Twins, and she was as Gryffindor as they came. Directly crashing into the commentators’ podium? That was pure Ginny, and Harry couldn’t get enough of it. She was about the only thing that made his world brighter these days (her and Quidditch, which was related), especially since Ron and Hermione were spending so much more time with each other now. He landed on the pitch, and she quickly rushed over to him.

“That was brilliant, Ginny,” Harry said.

“ _You_ were brilliant, Harry,” she shot back, and she threw his arms around him.

They stared into each other’s eyes intensely, and then, without planning it, without caring about the rest of the team watching and half of Gryffindor having a clear line of sight, without even fully knowing why, they both leaned in and kissed.

Ron’s jaw dropped. The rest of the team wolf-whistled, including Demelza, and Seamus followed up with, “It’s about time—Dean’s gonna kill you, though.”

Harry’s heart seemed to be roaring in triumph. It was nothing let the wet, distraught kiss from Cho last year. Kissing Ginny actually felt…right. He glanced nervously at Ron, but his friend gave him a tiny, grudging nod of acceptance.

Party plans were made, and the rest of the team ran up to the castle, but Hermione caught Harry, Ron, and Ginny coming out of the changing room, looking upset, but determined: “You shouldn’t have done that, Harry. It’s illegal.”

“Done what?” Harry said with a grin.

“You know perfectly well what! You spiked Ron’s juice with Felix Felicis at breakfast!”

Harry’s grin widened even more: “You mean _this_ Felix Felicis?” He reached into his robes and pulled out the tiny bottle, which was still corked and sealed tight.

Hermione’s mouth opened and closed a few times in disbelief.

“What?” Ron said. “You mean you didn’t…?”

“Nope, that was all you, Ron.” Harry said as Ginny giggled at him. “Muggles call it the power of positive thinking.”

Ron gaped for a moment, and then rounded on Hermione with a grin of his own: “Well, Miss Smartypants, it looks I did that all on my own.”

“But that’s…” Hermione started, then stopped. “I never said…Oh, you…you…you…” She took one long look at Harry and Ginny, who were holding hands, and then she grabbed Ron’s face in her hands and kissed him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: JK Rowling holds full rights to Harry Potter.
> 
> This was originally going to be part of Chapter 4, but in keeping with the shorter-chapter format of this story, I decided to split it off when it got too long.

The next few weeks for Harry were like living in a dream. He was happier than he could remember being since before Sirius died—maybe since before Cedric died and Voldemort returned. His fifth year had been pretty lousy, after all. But his time with Ginny was changing all that, maybe even—dare he say it—healing.

Ron and Hermione looked like they were feeling it, too. Harry was as surprised as anyone that his two best friends had managed to get over themselves and admit their feelings for each other, but he was happy for them. After five years of stressing themselves and each other out over everything, they deserved it.

 _And so do I,_ Harry thought in his more reflective moments.

The news that the two of them and Harry and Ginny had got together in the same day had the Hogwarts gossip mill wringing it for all it was worth, but for once, Harry didn’t care. He had a wonderful girlfriend, both he and Hermione had dates to Slughorn’s Christmas party next week, the D.A. was going surprisingly strong again, and life was good.

And yet, he could never fully forget the trouble that was brewing on the horizon—both his eventual showdown with Voldemort and the increasingly urgent matter of finding the horcruxes. After scouring the art and history sections of the library and finding nothing about the Lost Diadem of Ravenclaw, Harry decided to go back to his original source.

“Luna, suppose someone had a…fairly urgent need to _find_ the Lost Diadem of Ravenclaw. Is there _anyone_ or _anywhere_ that would be good to look for it?”

“I’m afraid not, Harry,” Luna replied airily. “No one in living memory has seen the diadem. Is this something to do with your plan to stop You-Know-Who?”

“Harry stopped and stared in horror. What do you know about that?” he said urgently.

“Only that Ginny told me you have one. Is the diadem important?”

Harry sighed with relief: “Um, yeah. Don’t spread it around, but it’s _very_ important.”

“Oh dear, I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help, Harry.”

“It’s okay, Luna—you tried. Maybe Professor Flitwick would…wait a minute.” A thought struck him: “In _living_ memory. Who’s the Ravenclaw ghost, Luna?”

“The Grey Lady, of course.”

“Brilliant! Where can I find her?”

“Well, she usually haunts the seventh floor near the battlements—”

“Thanks, Luna!” Harry took off running.

“Harry? Harry, wait!” Luna ran after him, struggling to catch up. “Harry, the Grey Lady isn’t very talkative. She doesn’t even like to talk to me very much.”

Harry skidded to a stop: “I’ve got to talk to her, though. She’s my only lead.”

“Yes, I’m afraid she is, but you’ll have to be quite lucky to get anything useful out of her.”

“Lucky?” Harry said, and a grin spread across his face. “I can be lucky.”

He decided to wait until he spoke with Ron, Hermione, and Ginny before taking further action. That evening, the four of them sat huddled in the Common Room whilst Harry twirled the tiny potion bottle between his fingers.

“I think it’s time,” he said.

“I suppose it could work,” Hermione said, “at least to talk to the Grey Lady, but even if she knows where the diadem is, how are you going to get it?”

“I’ll tell Dumbledore straight away. He’ll take care of it.”

“Sounds great, mate,” Ron said. “I say go for it.”

“You’ll be careful, won’t you, Harry?” Ginny asked determinedly.

“Always,” he replied with a smile. He examined the little bottle again: “I reckon I won’t need the whole thing—not twelve hours’ worth…I think maybe three hours. Four doses—four horcruxes—if it all works out, anyway…Well, here it goes.” He raised the little bottle to his lips and took a carefully measured swallow.

Harry had never experienced the sensation of “feeling lucky.” He’d never really understood the expression except as the opposite of the sensation he felt all too often of “feeling unlucky.” His episodes of bad luck had been truly astounding at times. But now, creeping up on him almost silently, an exhilarating sense of infinite opportunity came over him. He felt like he could do anything he wanted—anything at all. Slughorn’s warning about dangerous overconfidence shot fleetingly through his mind and was immediately discarded. What could possibly go wrong? Talking to the Grey Lady would be _easy_. Finding the diadem itself would be easy. And he could probably do something else impossible after that. _Anything_ was possible.

“Harry, are you okay?” Ginny said, seeing his manic grin.

Harry grabbed Ginny and gave her a searing kiss.

“Oi! Do you have to do that in front of me?” Ron demanded.

“Excellent!” Harry said, breaking away. “Brilliant—never better. Right, then—I’ll get my basilisk fang, and then, seventh floor.” He pulled Ginny up, wrapped an arm around her waist and whisked her up the stairs in a flurry of excitement, leaving Ron and Hermione racing to catch up. She couldn’t help giggling.

“Basilisk fang?” Hermione said. “But I thought you said Dumbledore—”

“Hey!” Ron called. “You are going to talk to the Grey Lady and not snog, right?”

“Ah, details,” Harry said with a laugh. Ginny giggled again.

But they really did go to talk to the Grey Lady. They found her right away, drifting around the seventh floor—a beautiful young woman with long black hair. Harry forced himself to become more serious, instinctively knowing that the ghost would not appreciate a jubilant greeting. He motioned for his friends to stay back behind the corner and approached her slowly.

“Hello,” he said. “Are you the Grey Lady of Ravenclaw?”

She nodded, but did not speak.

“Excellent. I was hoping you might be able to help me. I was wondering if you knew anything about the Lost Diadem.”

The Grey Lady smiled an oddly cold smile and said, “I am afraid that I cannot help you.” She turned and started to leave.

Harry ran around in front of her, and she mercifully stopped instead of floating through him. “Please,” he said, “I’m sure you know more than anybody else in the school about the diadem. How many centuries have you been here? How many students and teachers have you seen come through these halls?”

To his surprise, the ghost’s face contorted into an angry glare, but Harry remained calm. It was as if the Felix Felicis was telling him it would all be okay if he held his ground. “Do you really think you can convince me with kind and flattering words?” she demanded. “Do you think your fame will help you, boy? Do you think you are the first student to covet my mother’s diadem?”

 _Her mother_ _’s?_ Harry thought. He was sure he heard Hermione gasp around the corner. But Felix Felicis told him it wasn’t important, and by luck, the right collection of memories floated through his mind, and the answer became obvious. “No, I don’t think I am,” he whispered apologetically. “I think there was another one, about fifty years ago—a boy named Tom Riddle.”

The Grey Lady gasped, and a silvery tear rolled down each of her cheeks. She turned away from him, but didn’t fly away. “I had no idea…” she whispered. “ _He_ was kind… _He_ was flattering… _He_ pretended to sympathise…”

“You weren’t the first or the last person Tom Riddle tricked with kind words,” Harry assured her. “Do you know what he did with it?”

“He defiled it!” the ghost screamed, whirling around and bringing her face within inches of Harry’s. But still, he did not flinch. “He brought it back to the castle a decade later, _after_ he turned it into an object of evil. The Diadem cannot help you, Harry Potter. It can only corrupt, now.”

 _The castle? It_ _’s in the castle?_ Harry thought, his mind racing. _Of course, the night he came to ask for a job. He didn_ _’t come to steal something; he came to_ hide _something_. He knew then what he had to do. If it weren’t for the Felix Felicis, Harry wouldn’t dare say what he said next, not when he knew the diadem was her mother’s, but the lucky potion told him to go for it: “I don’t want to _use_ it, Miss Ravenclaw. I want to destroy it.”

Miss Ravenclaw’s features softened, and she turned sad and demure again. Looking down at the floor, she said, “That diadem has caused me much pain, both in life and in death. It is worthless to anyone who is good, now…You swear you will destroy it?”

Harry pulled the basilisk fang from his robes and showed it to her: “Right here. Right now. If you tell me where it is.”

She looked him in the eye and nodded slowly. “You are a good man, Harry Potter,” she said. “You know the place, though not by name—the place where everything is hidden.”

Harry wasn’t sure what to make of that, but Felix Felicis told him he had all he needed from the ghost. “Thank you, Miss Ravenclaw,” he told her.

“The place where everything is hidden?” Ron said incredulously when he rejoined his friends behind the corner. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“And a place we already know,” Hermione added.

“Well, we hid a lot of stuff in the Room of Requirement,” Ginny suggested, “and it’s not a place people would normally look.”

Harry kissed her again. “Brilliant!” he said. “You see, that’s why you three are here. Let’s go.”

Harry set the pace at a brisk walk as he led his friends the short way from the battlements to the now-infamous tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. A little first-year girl in the corridor was so surprised when she saw them that she dropped her telescope with a loud crash, but Harry was a little too preoccupied to notice. He paced back and forth in front of the blank wall, not knowing what he would find, and he thought, _I need the place where everything is hidden. I need the place where everything is hidden. I need the place where everything is hidden._ The polished wooden door appeared in the wall.

“Oh, my shoe’s untied,” he said. He knelt down to tie it, and at that instant, there was a cry, and a bolt of red light flew over his head. He whipped out his wand and spun around, firing off a Stunning Spell of his own without even aiming. He hit the little first-year girl square in the face, and she crumpled to the floor in the middle of firing off another spell at him.

“Whoa,” Ron said. “Lucky your shoe came untied.”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Why did she try to stun me?”

“I don’t know,” Hermione replied. “How did a first year even _cast_ a Stunning Spell?”

“I don’t know…unless she’s not really a first year…Stay alert. There might be somebody in there.” In fact, Felix Felicis was giving Harry the distinct feeling that there was.

The foursome peaked inside the door of the Room of Requirement, and they gasped at what they saw. It was a room the size of a cathedral—longer than the Great Hall and just as wide and high—filled from floor to ceiling with hidden items from a thousand years’ worth of Hogwarts students—and probably teachers, staff, and elves as well. _And Voldemort thought this was a_ secret _hiding place?_ Harry thought. There was enough broken furniture to restock half the castle if it was repaired, enough books to fill a whole second library, no doubt thousands of dark or just mis-charmed artifacts that were no longer of any use, and enough contraband items to give Filch a heart attack.

“The place where everything is hidden…” Harry whispered. “Keep an eye out,” he told his friends. He felt for the feelers of direction from Felix Felicis and pointed down one of the alleyways through the piles of junk. “I’m thinking…that way.”

They moved forward cautiously, passing an enormous stuffed troll amongst many, many smaller items. Harry hung a left at a broken vanishing cabinet that particularly seemed to interest Hermione, and proceeded to a pile of odds and ends surrounding a more mundane cabinet. And there, glittering between a hideous marble bust and a dusty wig, he saw it. The silver filigree was just like it had been on the bust of Rowena Ravenclaw, and the inscription was right where it should be. “There it is!” he cried, snatching it up. He didn’t know if there were any curses or protections on it, like the ring, but luckily, there weren’t.

“Harry!” Hermione cried.

“What is it?”

“This cabinet! I recognise it!”

“Oh, yeah, Fred and George told me about it,” Harry said dismissively. “It’s a vanishing cabinet. They shut Montague in it last year. Don’t go in, though. It’s broken.”

“No, not that. There was a cabinet just like this in Borgin and Burkes.”

“What?” Harry, Ron, and Ginny gasped.

“‘Just keep _that_ one safe,’” she said. “That’s what Malfoy told Mr. Borgin. And if he was asking how to fix _this_ one—”

“That must be what his plan is!” Harry said triumphantly. “If he fixes this one, he’ll have a new secret passage into the school, and he can bring in Death Eaters right under Dumbledore’s nose.”

“Oh my gosh, it all makes sense, now. I’m sorry I doubted you, Harry.”

“Yeah, lucky you remembered, Hermione,” Ron said, kissing her on the cheek.

“I know. Your luck must be rubbing off on me, Harry.”

Harry smiled, but suddenly, he fumbled with the diadem, and as he ducked to grab it, for a second time, a curse flew over his head, but this time, it was blue, and it smashed the marble bust behind him to bits when it struck.

Immediately, all four of them had their wands out. Ron, Ginny, and Hermione were looking around frantically for a target, but Harry was still feeling lucky. He fired Stunning Spells blindly into the stacks. Even his luck wasn’t good enough to hit anything that way, but it soon drew a head of bleach-blond hair out into the open.

“Malfoy!” Harry roared and pursued him.

The Slytherin ran, firing all the worst curses he knew behind him, but with just one of him against four opponents, one of whom was so lucky as to be practically untouchable, it was really no contest.

“ _Expelliarmus! Incarcerous_!” Harry roared. He had never used _Incarcerous_ before, but he felt like it couldn’t fail tonight. Sure enough, Malfoy lost his wand and fell to the floor, bound in ropes. “Well, well, well,” Harry said as he strode up to the Slytherin, imitating Malfoy’s own swagger. “Draco Malfoy…It looks like _your_ luck just ran out.”

“Potter!” Malfoy looked up at him with what seemed to be fear in his eyes. “You can’t do this!”

“Oh _can_ _’t_ I? Let’s just see what you’ve _really_ been up to,” Harry said. He pulled back Malfoy’s sleeve. Ron, Ginny, and Hermione gasped. The Dark Mark was there, just as he’d expected.

“Potter, you have to let me go!” Malfoy said frantically.

Harry stopped in surprise. “ _I_ have to let you go?” he said in disbelief. “Are you really as dumb as you look? You’re trying to let more Death Eaters into the school, aren’t you? Not to mention you tried to kill Dumbledore, and you nearly _did_ kill Katie. Don’t try to deny it. I know it was you, and so does Dumbledore.”

Malfoy’s eyes grew wide with terror, and he started shaking where he lay.

“Just why do you think throwing yourself on my mercy could possibly help you? Ask Dumbledore or Slughorn about how _nice_ I’m feeling this year.” Harry stopped as he felt the diadem tingling in his hand. Suddenly, the Felix Felicis was telling him to do something _crazy_ , but after it had served him so well already, he dared not deny it. “Hang on a minute, I’ve got to take care of this,” he told Malfoy, as if he were interrupting him to take a phone call. He pulled out the diadem and the basilisk fang and knelt on the floor.

“Harry!”

“What’re you doing?”

“You can’t show him that!”

But Harry didn’t listen to his friends. He could already hear the diadem calling to him. There was no turning back now, or he might not be able to let it go. He raised the fang high and brought it down hard on the silver. It pierced the metal, and a sickly black ichor poured out of it, and a dark mist rose above it. It formed into a half-human shape, and there was a high, anguished scream, unmistakable as Voldemort’s, and then it was gone.

The scream seemed to persist for a moment, and then Harry realised it was Malfoy.

“You shouldn’t have done that, Harry,” Hermione scolded.

“I don’t know, Hermione. I think the odds are on my side,” Harry replied, turning back to Malfoy with a grin of triumph.

“What…what was that, Potter?” the Slytherin whispered. His already-pale face had gone as white as the Grey Lady’s at the sight of that show of power.

“That was step one of Dumbledore’s and my plan to get rid of Voldemort once and for all, Malfoy. How’s that Mark on your arm feeling _now_?”

With that, Malfoy lost it completely. “Please…Please, Potter,” he said, “I can’t fail. If I fail, he’ll kill me, and if he can’t get to me, he’ll kill my mother instead!”

Harry stopped at that, not because he wanted to, but because the Felix Felicis was telling him to.

“Did Draco Malfoy just say “please’?” Ron observed.

“Is he _crying_?” Ginny pointed out.

Harry looked closer and nodded in a daze. He was. He couldn’t believe Draco Malfoy, the Prince of Slytherin, had fallen so far. He would have liked nothing better than to haul Malfoy in to the Aurors and throw the book at him. Finally, something would be done about the tosser. But as much as he would have enjoyed it, he didn’t, because the Felix Felicis was telling him something else: _This is a priceless opportunity._ He knelt down close to Malfoy’s face and said, “So you finally see how awful your Master is, now that it’s too late? Maybe it’s time you joined the _winning_ side.”

“What?” Ron and Ginny yelled.

“You’re just going to let him—”

“After what he did to Katie?”

Harry held up his hand: “That’s enough, guys. I don’t like him either, but do you realise how valuable he would be if we turned him?”

“ _Turn_ Malfoy?” Ron shouted.

“Well, maybe not turn, exactly, but interrogate. Alright, listen up, ferret,” he said making sure Malfoy could see the Lily Evans temper in his eyes that had cowed Dumbledore and Slughorn. “We just caught you red-handed. We _could_ just turn you in and let Voldermort have his way with you, but I’m going to give you this _one_ chance to make a deal: You’re going to tell Dumbledore everything, and I mean _everything_ about your plan—what happened to Katie, what you’re doing next, and whatever you know about the Death Eaters—and I’ll tell him to protect you, _and_ to take all reasonable action to protect your mother. And he’ll do it, too. He’ll listen to me.”

“It’s true,” Hermione quipped.

“H-h-how do I know I can trust you?” Malfoy said fearfully.

“Because we’re Gryffindors,” Harry told him. “And that means, unlike your Master and his cronies, we actually have honour.”

“Honour…” Malfoy tried to sneer, but he wasn’t succeeding. “Well, then…I guess I don’t have much choice, do I.”

* * *

 

“With the vanishing cabinet repaired, I would have let a team of Death Eaters into the castle to draw you out and corner you, so that…so that I could kill you.”

Malfoy didn’t meet Dumbledore’s eyes as he explained his plan to the Headmaster. Harry had never seen him looking so defeated, not even when he had beat him at Quidditch or the House Cup, or hexed him for some snide remark or other. Between himself and Dumbledore, they’d got the junior Death Eater to admit his backup plans as well: placing Madam Rosmerta under the Imperius Curse so that she could give the cursed necklace to Katie, and he also warned them about his other plan to send Dumbledore a bottle of poisoned mead for Christmas through Professor Slughorn (who would be more likely to drink it himself, Dumbledore observed).

Harry had picked up the first-year girl, who turned out to be Goyle under Polyjuice, on the way out. Unfortunately, the Felix Felicis proved not to be quite foolproof, because Goyle transformed back on the way to meet Dumbledore and squashed him. Even so, Goyle spilt everything pretty quickly upon being revived in the Headmaster’s office. Crabbe was quickly rounded up as the other accomplice, and they were both held pending Dumbledore finishing up with Malfoy.

“That’s all I know, I swear,” Malfoy concluded. “I don’t know what the Dark Lord will do when he finds out I failed, but it won’t be pretty. And when he’s done, I’m sure he’ll try to find another way.”

“Thank you, Draco,” Dumbledore said calmly. “I have already anticipated that. I am glad to see that you finally turned away from the dark path on which you had set out.”

“Yeah, well, Potter didn’t give me much choice,” he spat.

“We all have a choice, Draco. It is not easy to turn away from the ideology one was raised with, no matter the circumstances.”

“Yeah, save it…sir. So what happens now?”

“For your own protection, I will not involve the Aurors—at least in an official capacity. You will be taken to an Order safe house immediately for the duration of the war by two Order members—ah, and here they are, now.”

Remus Lupin and Tonks entered the office and nodded in greeting. Harry nodded in return. He was sure he’d have a long talk with them later.

“Your mother will be ‘kidnapped’ by the Order at the earliest opportunity and will join you thereafter. Unfortunately, from what you have told me, it is unlikely that we will be able to gain access to your father.”

“Yeah, well, he hasn’t done much for me lately, either,” Malfoy mumbled.

Dumbledore’s eyebrows rose a fraction at this but he ignored it: “I fear it is quite likely that we will not meet again, Draco, so I will say farewell, and good luck.”

Malfoy’s eyes widened at the revelation, but he just stood with a reluctantly muttered, “Yes, sir,” and left the office with Tonks and Lupin.

Finally, only Harry was left. He came around and stood across the desk from the old wizard.

“Was there something else, Harry?” Dumbledore asked.

“Yes, there was, Professor.” He pulled the Diadem out of his robes. “Merry Christmas: one destroyed horcrux.”

The old man’s eyes went wide, and he started casting spells to verify its nature. “It is precisely that…” he said. “And, oh my, this is the Lost Diadem of Ravenclaw. Where? How?”

“It was in the Room of Requirement,” Harry said smugly. “That’s why we were in there in the first place. That must be the real reason Voldemort came here in ‘57.”

“It must have been. And how—but I see; from this damage, I take it you used a basilisk fang?”

“You didn’t seem interested, sir, but I thought it would be good to have one handy, you know, in case I couldn’t get hold of the Sword of Gyffindor for some reason.”

“Well, I still don’t think it was particularly necessary, Harry,” Dumbledore said, “but I admire your dedication. And thank you. You have saved us a great deal of time and effort. Indeed, I feared this horcrux might be the most difficult to locate.”

“So that leaves…” Harry tried to think of a neutral way to say it. “…two more that are hidden away somewhere.”

“Correct. I may have a lead on one of them, but it will take time to investigate. I will inform you when I have conclusive evidence. At this point, I think you have more than earned the right to join me in this quest.”

Harry was actually taken aback by this praise, but he managed to stammer, “Th-thank you, sir,” before leaving the Headmaster’s office.

* * *

 

It later turned out that being squashed by Goyle was actually good luck for Harry, thanks to Ginny’s go-to response of “kiss it and make it better.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: All rights to Harry Potter belong to JK Rowling.
> 
> My longest chapter yet on this story, but I think it advances things nicely.

Harry dodged a Stunning Spell, put up a shield against a nasty-looking blue spell that he didn’t want to know what it did, and rolled to the side. He responded with a Bludgeoning Hex aimed at him opponent’s legs, but she deftly stepped aside, snapped her wand up to his face and uttered the two words he least wanted to hear.

“ _Chiroptera Mucosa_!”

Ginny’s Bat-Bogey Hex nailed him in the face, and Harry dropped to his knees as a black bat crawled out of his nose. Ginny stood over him, laughing. Suddenly, Harry felt a flash of almost irrational anger. That was the same mistake that had got Sirius killed. He wasn’t about to let his girlfriend go without learning _that_ lesson. He brought his wand up to her knees again and cast, “ _Locomotor Mortis_!”

But Harry soon realised he’d underestimated her: Ginny _had_ learnt that lesson. She cast a lightning-fast shield charm that absorbed the spell and retaliated with another volley of those obscure hexes she knew so much about. She could definitely take care of herself. It was oddly endearing, he thought, how many different ways his girlfriend could mess him up. Of course, with his raw power and both of their short tempers, they were smart enough not to get on each other’s nerves. Much.

Harry tried a new tactic: shooting spells all around her to back her up into the path of the one person in the D.A. who was even more creative than Ginny with her spells: Luna. Though Ginny was more than a match for the little blond on her own, in the crossfire, she never stood a chance.

Harry looked around to where Hermione was reviving Ron after having stunned him, and Seamus was unsticking Neville where Luna had awkwardly pinned him to the wall, and he called out, “Alright, good fight, everyone.”

After months of work, the new D.A.—smaller, but more dedicated than before—was shaping up to something that looked fairly professional, and their live fire exercises were getting about as hazardous as they dared. In the one-on-one duels, of course, a clear hierarchy had emerged. Harry was definitely the strongest fighter. Hermione and Ginny came the closest to being able to challenge him, and they did get in a lucky win every so often. Ron, Neville, and Luna were all close behind them, although Luna was more effective at sneaking around and surprise attacks than a head-on duel. But everyone in the Room of Requirement had made great strides this year.

“You okay, Ginny?” Harry asked, helping her to her feet and kissing her lightly.

“I’ll get you next time, Potter,” she said with a predatory smile.

Harry smiled back and faced the group with an air of leadership: “I’m really proud of how far you’ve all come. We’re starting to look like a force to be reckoned with. Just remember: out there, a small mistake can get you killed. Gloating is one way to be dangerously inattentive. So is not being aware of your surroundings. As you could see, Ginny was on top of the first one, but she still got backed into a crossfire. Ron, where did you go wrong?”

“I tried to duel Hermione,” Ron groaned, nursing a headache. Hermione rolled her eyes and kissed him where he was rubbing his forehead. Harry also rolled his eyes, but glared at him to continue. “Relying on shielding too much,” Ron clarified. “She cracked through it before I could hit her.”

“Good. Neville?”

“I got distracted when I didn’t recognise what Luna was casting,” he said sheepishly.

“Exactly. The Death Eaters have years of training on us. They have more power, and they have more dark curses than we’ve probably even heard of. You’re rarely going to want to take them head on. That’s why we’ve worked so hard on evading and flanking. If you have to fight, get them from behind before they can get you. Okay, that’s all for tonight. Think about the mistakes you made and how you can correct them. Watch your coins for the next meeting, and keep alert because there’ll be important end-of-year business going on.” _Very important_ , he thought.

Harry dismissed the D.A. meeting in small groups with the aid of the Marauder’s Map. Soon, only his three closest friends remained.

“You really have turned into a good leader, Harry,” Hermione told him.

Harry shook his head: “We’ve got a good group is all. I told them we wanted people who are serious about fighting the war, and that’s what we got. It couldn’t _not_ be good.”

“You’re the one who inspired a lot of them to fight,” Ginny assured him. “I know you don’t like people risking their lives to fight for you, but you seem to be the only one with a real plan right now, even if you haven’t told them what it is.”

Harry considered that. It was true—when he’d restarted the D.A., months ago now, it was solely on his word that he and Dumbledore had a plan to get rid of Voldemort that a lot of the members signed back up. And his close friends weren’t the only ones who noticed the boost in confidence. Morale was up all around, even as the war outside the castle was going badly.

He was interrupted from his thoughts when Jimmy Peakes ran up to him, panting. “Harry, there you are,” he said. “I’m supposed to give you this.” He held out a small scroll.

Harry took the scroll in hand and read it, and his eyes grew wide. “It’s from Dumbledore,” he whispered. “He’s found a you-know-what.”

“Blimey,” Ron said. “Are you sure?”

“I don’t see what else it could be. I’ve gotta get ready.”

“Be careful, Harry,” Ginny said, hugging him tight.

Harry just smiled and pecked her on the lips again. “Don’t worry, Ginny, I’ll do one better,” he said. “I’ll be _lucky_.”

* * *

 

Harry arrived at Dumbledore’s office with a manic smile on his face. “Professor, you found one?” he said eagerly.

“I did, indeed, Harry,” the old wizard replied. “And as promised, you may come with me to retrieve it, if you wish.”

“Oh, I’m ready to go, sir,” Harry grinned. “One more step to taking down Voldemort for good, right?”

“Yes, and—” Dumbledore stopped and looked deeply into his eyes. “Harry…” he said with concern, “are you under the influence of a potion of some kind?”

“Yeah, Felix Felicis,” Harry said proudly. “I took about three hours’ worth.”

Dumbledore’s face fell: “Harry, I wish you had consulted me before doing that. I fear you may have wasted a very valuable potion with a limited supply.”

“What? Why, sir?” he said in confusion.

“Because Felix Felicis is not all-powerful. Powerful magics and thorough defences are more than enough to stymie sheer luck, and unless I am much mistaken, the potion will have no effect where we must go.”

“Why not?”

“Just as Felix Felicis causes good luck, my boy, there is a certain magical substance that causes _bad_ luck. You may have heard of it: malaclaw venom. It is profoundly unlucky, and Voldemort would have almost certainly infused the wards surrounding his horcrux with it, thus cancelling out any beneficial effects the Felix Felicis will give you.”

“Oh…” Harry was downcast at the thought that he had wasted part of his potion for nothing. Of course, it was too good to be true. The limited supply alone meant that it could only be used very sparingly, not as a go-to tool—an assassin’s tool, maybe, but not a soldier’s—but he should have known there would be magical defences against it. Dangerous overconfidence, indeed. But just then, a different thought crossed his mind, seemingly at random. “Wait a minute, I’ve got another idea, Professor,” he said. “Kreacher!”

The old elf popped into existence in front of him: “Master called for Kreacher?” he grumbled, muttering, “blood traitor” under his breath.

“Harry, what are you doing?” Dumbledore asked.

“Kreacher can help us find the horcrux,” Harry said brightly. “Lucky I thought of it, huh?”

“I am not sure that is wise. He could seriously complicate matters.”

“Well, he’s my elf, sir. He won’t talk if I tell him not to. And I’ve got a feeling he can help us.”

The old wizard sighed: “Very well. If you feel he will be helpful, I will trust you. But I should not need to impress upon you the need for secrecy.”

“Right, Professor. Kreacher, we’re going to go with Dumbledore on a special mission. You will not tell anyone anything about this mission without my express permission, and you will obey Dumbledore’s orders as you would mine.”

“Yes, Master,” the ancient elf grumbled.

“That is acceptable, Harry,” Dumbledore said. “However, before we go, I must make a very serious demand of you, as well.”

Harry tensed up. Was Dumbledore trying to assert control again? “I’m listening, sir,” he said cautiously.

“ _You_ must also obey any command I give you at once, and without question.”

“Sir?”

“ _Any_ command—even commands such as ‘run,’ ‘hide,’ ‘go back,’ and ‘save yourself.’”

Harry resisted the urge to just tell him off and instead grudgingly asked, “Why?”

“Because your life is more valuable than mine, Harry,” he said softly. “I am far more experienced with magical traps than you, and even I—” He held up his withered hand. “—am not perfect. I have little hope now of living long enough to see Voldemort defeated. It is _essential_ that you live to finish the job. Will you consent to this stipulation, Harry?”

Harry ran a hand through his already-messy hair. He _really_ didn’t like giving Dumbledore that much control, but on the other hand, the alternative was not going at all, and he definitely wanted to be on the scene. If it was as dangerous as Dumbledore said, he had to agree the logic was sound, and if it _was_ more about Dumbledore reasserting control, well, he could take the risk of getting bumped off the mission. “Alright, sir,” he decided. “I agree.”

“Good. Your invisibility cloak?”

“Right here.” Harry pulled out the silvery fabric from his robes.

“Then we shall go.”

Harry and Kreacher followed under the invisibility cloak as Dumbledore led them down to the Three Broomsticks. They found a sufficiently hidden spot, and then, with Dumbledore guiding, they apparated. A moment later, after that horrible feeling of being squeezed through a tube, Harry found himself standing high on a rock, breathing salty sea air.

At a closer look, they were standing on an outcrop of rock midway down the face of a high sea cliff, black and bleak under the moonlight. It was inaccessible and inhospitable—the perfect place to hide something that you didn’t ever want to be found.

“What do you think, Harry,” Dumbledore asked.

“Not a very nice spot for a picnic,” he deadpanned. And then, not really knowing why, he said, “Kreacher, what do you think?”

They looked, and the elf was trembling, looking more and more fearful as he surveyed the scene. His pale eyes glittered with recognition: “Oh, Kreacher is not liking being back here, Master…”

Dumbledore gasped, and Harry jumped on his answer: “ _Back_ here? You’ve been here before, Kreacher?”

He nodded reluctantly. “Kreacher is not liking this place, Master. It is a bad place.”

“You know what’s in there, then? Kreacher, I order you to answer truthfully. What’s in this place?”

“B-b-b-bodies!” the elf whimpered. “So m-many b-bodies. They killed Master Regulus! They killed him!”

“Inferi,” Dumbledore said as if he’d expected it.

“Regulus?” Harry asked. “Sirius’s brother? What was he doing here?”

“He took it. He took it and gave it to Kreacher. He made Kreacher take it back home and leave him.”

“Took what?” Harry said urgently.

Kreacher choked the answer out in a whisper: “The Dark…Lord’s…locket.”

“My word,” Dumbledore breathed. “He stole the horcrux. I knew Voldemort had killed Regulus, but I never suspected that he might have turned.”

“And Sirius never knew either. Wow…Kreacher—this locket—big, gold, and ugly, with a S on the front?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Where is it now?”

“Gone,” the elf said sadly.

“Gone? You mean destroyed?” Harry said hopefully.

“No…he…he…”

“Kreacher, I order you—”

“Mundungus Fletcher!” he screeched. “He took them—all of Mistress’s valuables and…and…Master Regulus’s locket! Kreacher failed in his orders! Kreacher did wrong! Master Regulus ordered Kreacher to destroy the locket!”

“Kreacher, calm down,” Harry shouted. The elf immediately fell silent. “ _I_ _’m_ going to destroy the locket. We just need to find it. Professor, Dung’s in Azkaban. I thought we got all his stuff back.”

“As did I, Harry,” Dumbledore replied. “He must have had another cache we did not know about, or else he sold it.”

“Okay, so we go to Headquarters and start asking around, then.”

“Headquarters, Harry? That seems quite unnecessary.”

“No, I think it is, sir. I’ve got a good feeling about Headquarters, you know? I feel like it’s the place to be tonight.”

The Headmaster stared at him for a long moment before nodding solemnly. “Very well. I suppose the answer will present itself there. We may go now.” He offered Harry his arm.

“Hey, cheer up Professor,” Harry said. “Thanks to Kreacher, we don’t have to fight the army of inferi, now, right? Pretty lucky, isn’t it?”

Dumbledore sighed: “Yes, Harry, it is. I only hope you do not become overconfident. The remaining horcrux may not be so easy.”

They apparated onto the front steps of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, and on a whim, Harry said, “After you, Professor.” This proved to be lucky for him, for the moment Dumbledore walked in the door, he found himself with Mad-Eye Moody’s wand pointed at his throat.

“Good evening, Alastor,” the old wizard said.

“It will be if you tell me who you are,” Moody replied. “We weren’t expecting visitors tonight.”

“I am Albus Dumbledore. I am the Secret Keeper for the Order of the Phoenix. And during your sixth year, Alastor, I discovered you and Violetta Hornby—”

“That’s enough, Albus,” Moody cut him off. “Come on in.” He spotted Harry. “You brought the boy with you?” he said in surprise.

Before Dumbledore could respond, a voice came from the dining room: “Harry? Harry’s here?”

“Remus!” Harry said—far too loudly—it was only by luck that he didn’t wake the portrait of Sirius’s mother. He rushed into the dining room, which was had been converted to a sitting room of sorts and saw his favourite werewolf sitting in an overstuffed chair, reading a book. Harry thought he looked an awful lot like Hermione like that.

“Harry,” Remus said, rising to his feet. “It’s good to see you, but what are you doing here?”

“Dumbledore’s secret mission,” he said simply.

“Really? And you had to come here tonight for it?”

“Oi! Harry’s here?” a high-pitched voice interrupted from upstairs. A moment later, Tonks was bounding down to meet him. “Wotcher, Harry. What’s up—AHH!” she yelled as she tripped over her own feet and fell directly into Remus, sending both of them toppling back into the overstuffed chair with her landing in his lap. “H-h-hi…” she said with a nervous smile as she looked up at his face.

“Hi…” Remus said slowly.

Harry sniggered at their compromising position, but at soon as he did, Remus noticed and jumped back to his feet, unceremoniously dumping Tonks onto the floor with a squawk of protest.

“Oi, rudeness!” she said. “I already fall down enough around here.”

“Sorry, Tonks,” Remus muttered.

Harry was still laughing at them.

“Alright, laugh it up, why don’t you?” Remus said, raising his voice.

“Oh, I think you make a really cute couple,” Harry said.

“We’re not!”

But Remus’s denial was suspiciously fast, and Dora confirmed it by muttering under her breath, “‘Cause Scruffy here won’t get his head out of his arse.”

Harry’s eyes grew wide as Tonks’s uncharacteristic behaviour over the past year suddenly made sense. It wasn’t about Sirius at all—at least not for the most part. “Wait, you—and you—” he said. “ _That_ _’s_ why your Patronus changed? You’re in love with Remus?”

“It’s not funny!” Tonks protested. Her hand twitched toward her wand in anger.

“I’m not laughing, Tonks. I think it’s brilliant. You’re a lucky man, Moony.”

But Remus didn’t look happy. He sat slumped in his chair, gazing intently at the floor.

“Moony? Something wrong?” Harry said.

“He’s being an idiot, that’s what’s wrong,” Tonks said.

Remus looked up with a hard look on his face: “I keep telling you it would never work. You deserve better. I’m thirteen years older than you, with no steady job, and—”

“And I keep telling you—” she said, pulling him to his feet by his robes and punctuating each word with a poke in the chest, “—I—don’t—care! You’re brilliant, kind, principled, and not bad-looking, and that’s good enough for me.”

“She’s got a point, you know,” Harry said.

“ _And_ it’s too dangerous,” Remus said loudly.

“AUGH!” Tonks turned and stomped away in exasperation, but she tripped over Harry’s foot and fell onto the sofa.

“Why?” Harry said. “Because you’re a werewolf?” The flicker of pain on the older man’s face was all the answer he needed. “Oh, come on, that’s no reason to deny yourself a little happiness. You deserve that and then some after all you’ve been through.”

Remus shook his head. “It’s not right for her,” he said.

“If she wants to give you a chance, why shouldn’t it be?” asked Harry. “I mean, look at me. Voldemort’s got me marked for _death_ , and Ginny’s still giving me a chance.”

The older man opened his mouth and looked like he was going to make some unwise negative comment about that, but he thought better of it and said, “I’m very happy for you and Ginny, Harry, but this is a completely different situation.”

“Not really…Oh, come on. You, sir, are a disappointment to the Marauders,” Harry said firmly. “What would Padfoot say if he were here?”

Remus gave him an annoyed and slightly hurt look. “He’d say, “If you hurt my baby cousin, I’ll eat your face.’”

“Oh…well…Well, what would my dad say, then?”

He sighed, thought for a moment, and said, “James would say, “Quit being an idiot and grab her before she gets away.’”

“See, there you go.”

“Well, Harry, we’ve established that your father had something of a reckless side about him.”

That was it; he asked for it. It was time for the big guns: “Alright, Remus, if you won’t listen to your fellow Marauders, how about you tell me what my mother would have told you right now.”

Remus’s eyes widened a little. That one cut a little deeper than he expected.

“I know exactly what my mum would tell you,” Harry said, “because it’s the same thing I’m going to tell you now. My mother had a way of seeing the beauty in others even, and perhaps most especially, when that person couldn’t see it in themselves. _You_ were the one who told me that. You’re a good man, Remus. You took the time to talk to a scared and angry thirteen-year-old boy who had long since learnt not to expect much out of adults. You were the only decent Defence teacher I’ve ever had, unless you count the Death Eater—the _first_ Death Eater. From the sound of things, you were the conscience of the Marauders and, let’s face it, the brains half the time. You are one of the kindest and most supportive people I’ve ever met, and smarter than most of them I could name. You need to stop worrying about your problems so much before you start letting them define you. You’re strong enough to work through them if you let yourself be, and if you’re offered the love of a beautiful, fun, smart, and kind woman who can look past your age, your money, and your health to see the good man you are inside, that’s not something you just throw away.”

By the time Harry finished his speech, he could see that Remus was starting to cry, which meant either that his luck had run out, or his words had finally hit home. It turned out to be the latter. “Harry, Harry, Harry…” he said, “when did you become so much like your mother?”

“Since a certain bearded codger inspired me to embrace that side of myself.” He jerked his thumb at Dumbledore. “Now, are you two going to kiss, or do I have to use a Sticking Charm.”

At that, Remus shuddered slightly and said, “You’ve got as scary as your mother, too,” but he finally screwed up his courage and turned to Tonks, saying, “Dora…I’m…I’m sorry for being such an arse. I…really do like you, and if you’ll still have me—” He didn’t get a chance to finish as she attacked him, and they fell back into the chair.

Harry turned around to face the older men. Dumbledore had warmed up some and had a small, knowing smile on his face, despite the “bearded codger” dig. Moody was smirking. “Good job, boy,” he said. “Those two have been driving me barmy for months, now.”

After about half a minute, Dumbledore cleared his throat. Remus and Tonks broke off their kiss and looked up at the visitors. “So, Harry, did you just come here to meddle in my love life?” Remus said.

“No, but it’s lucky I did, isn’t it? I had a more serious question, though. Do any of you know where Mundungus stashed his stuff?”

“Mundungus’s stuff?” he said in confusion. “You mean the stuff he stole? I thought we already got all of it back.”

“No, Kreacher says some of it’s still missing. There was a locket in there that we really need to get back.”

“Hmm…so Dung had another hidey-hole,” Moody growled. “Well, I’ve got a few ideas. I’ll go check ‘em out. I should be back by morning.” He took his cane and turned to leave.

Suddenly, Harry got another wild idea. “Mad-Eye,” he interrupted.

“Eh?”

“How many ideas are we talking about?”

Moody’s eyes narrowed, but he quickly counted off on his fingers: “I’d say six, at the outside.”

Harry quickly pulled a sickle from his pocket and flipped it three times, hoping—but knowing—that his luck would carry that far. “Try number four first,” he said.

The ex-Auror turned to Dumbledore in suspicion. “The boy gone “round the twist, Albus?” he asked.

“I have not entirely discounted the possibility, Alastor,” the old wizard said, to Harry’s astonishment. He didn’t think he’d aggravated him enough to actually make a dig back at him. “But in this case, Harry is under the influence of Felix Felicis. His advice may well prove helpful.”

“Alright, we’ll see, then,” Moody said, and he limped out the door.

* * *

 

To Harry’s and Dumbledore’s delight, it only took an hour before Moody got back to Grimmauld Place. “Well, I don’t know how you did it, kid, but that potion must really work,” he said. “Spot number four—that’s where the stuff was.” He opened a small bag and started taking the things out while Harry grinned and Dumbledore smiled back a little reluctantly. “Got an old Order of Merlin medal, a pair of acromantula silk gloves, some photos of Narcissa and Bellatrix we can burn—ha! And this—big, ugly locket with an S on it? That’s what you wanted?”

“That’s the one,” Harry said. “Thanks a lot, Moody.”

The ex-Auror reluctantly held the locket out to him. “I don’t what you want it for, but you’d better be careful,” he said. “The thing’s riddled with dark magic.”

Harry smirked at Moody’s too-appropriate choice of words as he took the locket. Just then, Dumbledore cleared his throat and said, “Harry, perhaps we should remove ourselves to the basement for this part.”

“Fair enough, Professor.” Harry quickly descended the stairs to the large kitchen, which was empty at this time of night. Dumbledore and Kreacher followed, the elf shaking eagerly to see Regulus’s work done. Harry knelt down on the floor and tried to get the locket open, but he couldn’t do it. He remembered no one could manage to open it before, either. After about a minute of trying, he noticed the snake emblem on the front. “Of course, Parseltongue,” he said. He held the locket down by the chain and pulled the basilisk fang from his robes, knowing by the fading effects of the Felix Felicis what he had to do. “Stand back,” he said. “We don’t know what this thing’s gonna do.” He whispered a word, and the locket sprang open, revealing a pair of dark eyes.

“ _Harry Potter_ ,” the locket hissed. “ _I have seen your heart, and it is—AHHHH_!” Harry wasn’t about to let it finish that sentence.

The apparition vanished as quickly as it had appeared. The inside of the locket was scorched and corroded by the basilisk fang, and it lay dead on the floor.

“Well done, Harry,” Dumbledore said.

“Thanks,” he replied.

“Oh, Master, you has done it!” Kreacher said excitedly, hugging Harry’s leg. “You has finished Master Regulus’s orders!”

“Uh, sure, no problem,” Harry said. “Um, that’ll be all, Kreacher.” The elf popped away with a grin on his face. “So now we just have to find the cup, and then figure out how to deal with the snake and Voldemort, right?”

“Correct, Harry,” Dumbledore replied, “including your part in it.”

“Yeah, I know,” Harry grumbled, trying to mask his ongoing apprehension. “Do you have any idea where the cup is, Professor?”

“Alas, I do not. And I fear I no longer have time to find out for myself. I must hope in your and your friends’ skills from this point on.”

Harry didn’t like the sound of that. He knew Dumbledore’s time was running out—by the end of term, he had said—within the next month. He’d been trying not to think about it too much. “And how are we supposed to do that, Professor?” he said sharply.

“I can only hope that you understand Voldemort well enough by now to deduce the answer. I will, of course, inform you in I have any more insights in the coming days, but I am afraid there are some other things I must tell you tonight, Harry.”

 _Oh crap, here it comes_. “What is it?” he asked nervously.

“My time is nearly up, Harry, as you already know…I have arranged that Professor Snape will kill me, in front of witnesses, during the last week of term, after exams are completed. While it will put a serious damper on the excitement of summer, it will be much more convenient overall. My funeral will be held on the last day of term, and the students will go home on the Express as usual the next day. I have already begun making the arrangements quietly under the pretence that my illness has grown worse.”

It was really creepy hearing him talk about this so calmly. “So we need to be prepared?” Harry said.

“Prepared for considerable hardship, yes. After my death, it will not be long—certainly before the next school year begins—that Voldemort will make his move on the Ministry. Except in the unlikely event that you are able to find Hufflepuff’s Cup before that happens, I am afraid you will be finishing this task under a hostile regime.”

“Oh, _lovely_ , a detective hunt in enemy territory. I didn’t realise I was James Bond, now.”

“I warned you this task would not be easy,” the old wizard said sadly. “But there is something else. When he takes control of the Ministry, Voldemort will be able to place a _Taboo_ on his name. That means that if anyone speaks his name anywhere on the island of Great Britain, he will know about it at once, and he will be able to send Death Eaters to the location. Voldemort’s name really will become dangerous to say.”

“What?” Harry demanded. “All these years you’ve been telling people to say his name, and now you’re saying we won’t be able to?”

“It is an eventuality that I had hoped would never arise. Had I lived long enough to see the end of the war, Voldemort would not be able to make his move on the Ministry to put the Taboo in place. And had I succeeded in convincing everyone else to use his name, the Taboo would be uselessly broad. He wouldn’t be able to track anyone with it.”

“And here I thought I was having a good night. Would have been nice to know this sooner, Professor. I need to step up my planning with my friends.” Harry turned to go, but another thought struck him: “Sir, would it be possible to switch Secret Keepers for Headquarters? Or remove the Fidelius and reapply it?”

Dumbledore turned in surprise. “Why do you say that, Harry?” he said.

“After you told me your little plan, Hermione read up on the Fidelius Charm and found out that when the Secret Keeper dies, everyone who knows the secret becomes Secret Keepers, and that seems like a pretty big security risk, sir.”

“Well, I do admit that is true,” he said. “Yes, a Fidelius Charm can be lifted by the Secret Keeper in concert with a competent spellcaster. In this case, I am both. I _had_ considered the possibility, but I did not want to raise suspicion over the action.”

Harry rolled his eyes: “Tell them I insisted.”

“Pardon me?”

“It’s no secret that I’ve been taking charge on this mission to people who are paying attention. I’m sure Snape’s already told Vol— _You-Know-Who_ ,” Harry grumbled. “We’ll just say I pushed you into it because I’m paranoid. It’s even true. And besides, what about that pretence that your illness has grown worse?”

The Headmaster nodded slowly. “Am I to take it that you would like to take on the role of Secret Keeper yourself?”

“Unless you have a better idea, Professor. I _am_ the one who’s supposed to finish this war, after all. If I die, we’re screwed anyway.”

Dumbledore sighed, but he had to agree the idea was sound. “Very well, Harry. Only be aware that you will have to re-inform everyone of the secret.”

“Will do, Professor,” Harry replied with a grin. That was one less thing to worry about. Now, he would have a base of operations to plan from over the summer, and if he “forgot” to re-inform Snape of its location, well, that would just be an honest mistake, wouldn’t it?


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: JK Rowling has ultimate control of Harry Potter.

“Do you _really_ think this will work, Harry?” Hermione asked worriedly. “I still think we need to bring more people in on the planning.”

“We will if we have the chance,” Harry replied as he and his friends pored over the diagrams on the parchment. “But if things start moving fast, we need to have a plan that we can just tell everybody and go.”

“I _don_ _’t_ like this last part,” Ginny said.

Harry snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her close. “We knew it was going to be bad,” he said. He pointed to a particular mark on the diagram. “Look, from this spot, this is the best path to get me out of there alive. With Felix Felicis, it should work— _if_ we can choose the battlefield. The tricky part will be getting the snake first. We won’t have long before V—You-Know-Who figures out what we’re up to.”

“You’re leaving a big chunk of it up to chance, though,” Hermione pressed. “What if the Felix Felicis decides to run off and do a completely different plan that we aren’t prepared for?”

“I don’t see why it would do that unless it was a better plan, and I doubt it would be. Dumbledore said good planning beats luck.”

“Mione, I keep tellin’ you, you gotta trust Harry,” Ron cut in.

Hermione sighed, but she leaned into him. The four of them had been working on plans for the final battle with Voldemort—now You-Know-Who once again—ever since Harry had Dumbledore switch the Fidelius Charm over to him. Grimmauld Place would be the D.A.”s headquarters outside of school and their point of mobilisation, but they would need to actually confront the Dark Lord at a favourable place of their choosing.

“I still don’t like that we gotta wait until Tom makes his move on the Ministry,” Ginny said. Alone of the four of them, she still refused to say “You-Know-Who” and went with “Tom” instead. Harry had tried it, but it just didn’t feel natural.

“If we get a good chance before that, we’ll do it,” Harry assured her. “I just don’t think we’ll be ready by then. The important thing is that we know it’s coming, so we’ll be ready to run.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

* * *

 

The last Monday of the term, at sundown. That was the time Dumbledore and Snape had set. The time Dumbledore would die. Harry went up to the Headmaster’s Office half an hour before sunset. However much trouble the old man had caused him, he was damned if he was going to let him go without saying goodbye.

When he entered the office, Dumbledore looked genuinely surprised. “Harry, my boy,” he said. “I was not expecting you.”

“I had to come see you, Professor,” Harry said simply.

“I am touched, then. Believe me when I tell you that there is much I would like to say if I had the time, but under the circumstances, I will keep it to this: I have complete faith in you to finish this task. Despite all of our difficulties, you have performed beyond all of my expectations these past few months, and I am very proud of you.”

“Th-thank you, sir,” Harry replied, determined not to choke up. “I wanted you to tell you something, too…I think that despite all of your mistakes with me…I’m going to miss you. And not just because you’re the only one keeping You-Know-Who from taking over. I have a lot of problems with the way you’ve treated me for most of my life, but I can see that you’re a good man. And I think if the war hadn’t turned you into a man of secrets and lies, we could’ve got on really well.”

For once, Dumbledore was struck speechless. He looked even more surprised, then flattered, then saddened by Harry’s words. When he finally found his voice again, he said, “You are truly your mother’s son, Harry. It warms my heart that your capacity to see the good in people is so great. And I am sorry to disappoint you, but if I am to be honest, this is more than I deserve. I am afraid that I dealt in secrets and lies long before Tom Riddle was born. I will say that while everything I did for you, I thought was the right thing, I see now how badly my methods have wronged you. I wish…I wish that we had more time. Perhaps then we could have mended things properly one day.”

Harry nodded respectfully. “I wish we’d had more time, too, sir,” he replied.

Neither of them had anything more to say, and the moment ended when Snape walked in. “Albus, it is time—” he started. “Potter! What are you doing here?”

“I’m coming with you,” Harry decided.

“No,” both men said at once.

He cocked an eyebrow: “Are you going to stop me?”

“Yes.” But it was only Snape who said it.

“I think that should be the Headmaster’s choice, don’t you?” Harry replied after a pause.

“Harry, I would prefer that you did not see this,” Dumbledore said.

Harry was mildly surprised even now that it was only a request and not an order. “I thought we agreed it was too late to keep me from the action, sir,” he said. “I’ve seen death before. I don’t want you to be alone for this.” Snape scowled at the implication. “At least this time, I’ve had time to prepare for it—as much as I can, anyway. And besides—” He managed to flash a grin. “—you want to make it a good show, don’t you? This’ll finally give me a chance to hex Professor Snape.”

Snape’s eyes widened for split second, but then he scoffed at Harry: “Potter, if you can land a single hex on me, I will give you your N.E.W.T. on the spot.”

“Deal,” Harry said coolly.

Dumbledore just shook his head, wondering how this scene had got so…strange. Well, it was far too late to change things now. “Very well, Harry,” he played his part. “Professor Snape has just asked me to come down to the Forbidden Forest to inspect the wards. You may accompany us if you wish.”

Harry nodded determinedly. “Yes, Professor.”

Dumbledore led them out of his office, doing an admirable job of facing his death without flinching. What was it the man had said all those years ago? _“It really is like going to bed after a very,_ very _long day. After all, to the well organised mind, death is but the next great adventure._ _”_ Well, it seemed that was one thing that was true about him. He looked as ready for the next great adventure as anybody Harry had seen.

“Incidentally, Potter,” Snape growled, “in case you have forgotten, you still have not re-informed me of the location of Headquarters.”

“No, and you won’t get it out of me, _Professor_. The Fidelius is immune to Legilimency. Call me paranoid, but with You-Know-Who getting ready to take over, I think it’s safer keeping you out of there entirely.”

“My services as a spy—” Snape started.

“Are irrelevant because the two of us were never going to work together in the first place. You can continue reporting to the rest of the Order any way you want.”

Snape continued to grumble, but he let it go. It was too late to change things now. They walked through the halls without raising any eyebrows and headed into the fading light on the grounds. There were other people out on the grounds, too. They would be able to see from a distance and corroborate the story, but only Harry himself would be close enough to give a definite account, which seemed to be fine with Dumbledore.

The walk was agonisingly long for Harry. He couldn’t understand how Dumbledore was so calm, with the end creeping ever closer. He couldn’t bear to look at Snape at all, knowing what he had to do. The Potions Master’s face was simply grim when he glanced at it. What could possibly be going through _his_ mind? The Killing Curse could only be cast with hate, he recalled. Was there a part of him that actually _wanted_ to do it? There were so many questions that he would probably never be able to answer, but Harry couldn’t dwell on that now. They reached the edge of the Forbidden Forest, and then, something happened that he did not expect.

Snape turned to Harry and said, “Potter…Since this may be the last time we meet, there is something that you should know…” He took a deep breath. “I have had two great regrets in this life, out of a not inconsiderable number of regrettable things I have done, and both of them have to do with how I lost your mother…Your mother was not only a witch of exceptional skill but also one of exceptional courage and kindness. You would do well to continue to emulate her.”

Harry was speechless and frozen with shock. _What_ _…just what?_ Snape regretted losing his mother? Were they friends? Why did he call her a mudblood, then? And what was the other regret? And why was Snape being nice to him at the last minutes after all these years? He wanted to ask him, but by the time he got his bearings again, he knew it was too late—which was probably exactly what the greasy git wanted.

Snape had led Dumbledore a few paces forward and was standing behind him, motioning to the Forest. “I am still concerned about the possibility of someone getting in from this direction,” he said, just for the show, as he drew his wand and pointed it at Dumbledore’s back. He hesitated…

Harry saw the sight and half-forgot the plan. He yelled out, part acting and part real warning, “Professor, watch out!”

Dumbledore turned around with deliberate slowness, as if his illness had taken its toll. He wore a slight smile on his face—sad, but determined. His wand was slack in his hand.

“ _Avada Kedavra_!”

The green light and the sound of rushing death raced forward and struck the old man square in the chest with a strange cracking sound and a bright flash. His body fell backwards as if in slow motion until it landed splayed on the grass.

“NOOO!” Harry yelled. “ _Reduct_ —”

But Snape was faster with his wand, and he knocked Harry off his feet before he could get a spell off. “No, Potter, not today,” he said. It was an instruction, not a threat.

“ _Incarc_ —” Harry tried again, but again he was stopped by a jolt mid-cast. “ _Impedi_ —” he tried and failed again. He need something to slow Snape down, but he couldn’t land a spell.

“Enough!” Snape said.

“Fight back!” Harry screamed. Enraged and desperate, Harry forgot entirely that he was playing a part. He gave in to the temptation and yelled, “ _Cruc_ —”

“No!” the professor blasted Harry flat on his back. “Unforgivables are the mark of the lazy, Potter. Learn to fight properly, with your mouth shut and your mind closed!”

“Fight back! Fight back, you coward!” he repeated.

“Coward?” Snape yelled back. “Coward indeed! Your father would only fight four on one—!”

“And what about my mother?” Harry spat. Six years of torture at the hands of this man burned red-hot in his chest. What his mother would have done to him for _that_ if he had truly been her friend. Suddenly, a stray memory came to him. Without even taking the time to think (Did that count as clearing his mind?) he snapped his wand up and shouted, “ _Sectumsempra_!”

Severus Snape saw something he hoped he would never see again: Lily Evans’s eyes glaring at him with murderous anger. That sight was even worse than the sound of James Potter’s voice shouting a dark curse at him, even one of his own making. The sight actually caught him off guard, and he hesitated just long enough for Harry to complete the spell. Harry noted that Snape didn’t try to shield. He just dove to the side, but it was too late. The spell grazed his left arm, tearing away his sleeve and revealing a long, deep gash right across the Dark Mark. He yelped, just briefly, and then threw up a shield whilst clutching his arm. “You dare use my own spells against me?” he growled.

Harry froze. _Snape_ was the Half-Blood Prince? How in Merlin’s name—? But he saw at once that he had given Snape the opening he needed. The black-clad man was running away so fast he looked like he was flying, trailing blood behind him. “Come back! Come back and fight!” he yelled ineffectually. He mentally kicked himself. All that practising in the D.A., and he still froze up when something unexpected happened. Granted, Snape had, too, but he still won hands down. _Never again_ , he told himself. And it was then that he finally remembered Dumbledore.

He rushed over to the Headmaster’s body. It was still warm, but he was definitely dead, the colour already gone from his face. Dumbledore’s wand was still in his blackened hand—or rather half of it was. Even though nothing seemed to have struck it, it was snapped clean in two. A wild thought came to Harry: “ _In order to break its power, I must die by my own hand_.” Was _this_ the powerful artifact Dumbledore had told him about all those months ago? Another question that would go unanswered.

Harry tried to fight back the tears for a moment as he knelt over the man, but it was a losing battle. For all his faults—for all Harry’s anger at him—Dumbledore had been a mentor and a friend. A deeply flawed man, but, ultimately, a good one. He let his tears flow freely as he heard footsteps running across the grass to see what had happened.

But even through the tears, Harry kept his head. He drew a gold coin from his robes and tapped out a message on it. It said, in large, friendly letters, _DON_ _’T PANIC_. And a meeting time.

* * *

 

“Dumbledore was already dying. He’d been preparing for it quietly for months. You all saw what happened to his hand at the start of the year. It was a lot worse than he let on. It was killing him slowly. I think he even knew Snape was coming after him, but he thought the curse would kill him first. Really, how he died doesn’t matter so much. The important thing is that he realised months ago that he needed to pass on his plans to someone he could trust…me.”

Dumbledore’s Army sat huddled around Harry in the Room of Requirement, hanging on his every word. Many of them were openly crying, and all of them were feeling the fear that now rested on the castle like a cloak. Without Dumbledore there to protect them, Hogwarts didn’t feel safe anymore. And with the only one Voldemort ever feared dead, Harry was literally the only hope many of them had left. That he’d been secretly working with Dumbledore for months to end the war was about the best news they could get under the circumstances.

“You can do it?” Colin Creevey said hopefully. “You can stop You-Know-Who?”

“Yes,” Harry said, hoping with everything in him that it was the truth. He’d told Professor McGonagall the same thing when she’d spoken to him. It was so strange having his teacher come to him for advice like that, but as soon as he’d told her he was fulfilling Dumbledore’s plan, she trusted him implicitly and immediately offered him any help he needed. He didn’t need help, though—not right away—so he’d just told her to keep the Order running the same as before for now.

“We know how to stop him for good,” Harry continued. “But it’s complicated. There’s one thing we have to do first. Dumbledore gave me a secret mission—it’s not something the D.A. can do. Ginny, Ron, Hermione, and I have to finish it on our own.” His three closest friends all stood behind him for moral support. “After that, we take the fight to Voldemort.” He used the name so as not to distract. He’d address that in a minute. “And when we do, it’ll be to the finish.”

“Then we’ll fight with you,” Neville jumped in at once. “We all will, right guys? Dumbledore’s Army!”

“Dumbledore’s Army!” they all shouted, and Harry could almost feel the temperature in the room warm a couple degrees.

A slight smile played across his face. “I thought you’d say that…Here’s the situation. At some point—we don’t know when—we’re going to be ready, and it’ll be time to gather the troops. We’re going to try to arrange it so that it happens before the end of summer so you can all come out and fight with us, but we can’t guarantee that.

“Now, most of you are of age by now. Some of you aren’t. Most of you aren’t done with your schooling yet regardless, and because of that, out there, they’re going to say you’re too young to fight. I say bugger that.” There were shouts of agreement from the more Gryffindorish parts of the room. “You can all fight and fight well—I’ve seen you. What’s more, this is _your_ war, not just your parents.” You’re fighting for _your_ families and _your_ future. You have every right to go out there, and I’d feel better having any one of you at my side.” That got cheers all around.

“So we’re going to try to arrange it so the final battle is before the end of summer. If not, we’ll make do, but we’ll send you a message anyway, just in case you can get there fast enough. When the time comes, anyone who wants to fight can. And that goes the same for parents, older siblings, friends, neighbours—anyone who wants to fight with us. The best advantage we can get over the Death Eaters is superior numbers. _But_ …” Harry let the word hang in the air to make sure he had everyone’s attention. “At the same time, anyone who _doesn_ _’t_ want to fight, stay out of it. I don’t want anyone going in there with us unless we can be sure you have our backs. Watch your coins. Don’t lose them. We’ll send word about what’s going on that way.

“Now, there are a few things we need to take care of before we go. First, we have a new headquarters for the summer. It’s under Fidelius, so it’s definitely safe. Right now, it’s only going to be the four of us and a few of Dumbledore’s allies, but if we need to meet, I’ll let you in on the secret so you can come to us there. Dean, Justin, Terry—” He singled out the muggle-born members besides Hermione. “—if you need a safe place to stay, you can crash there. We’ll try to open it up to anyone else who needs it, but we have limited space.

“Second thing: in order to get around and protect each other this summer, we use the buddy system. Anyone who’s too young to apparate or doesn’t have a license, pair up with someone who does—someone you trust—and stick close to them. Take care of each other, and keep each other safe no matter what.

“Third thing…” Harry took a deep breath. “For the past few months, I’ve tell telling all of you to use Voldemort’s name. Well, I’m sorry, but it’s time to get _out_ of that habit.”

“What?” Dean Thomas said. “I thought you same we should use his name so we wouldn’t be afraid of it.”

“Yes, I did, Dean,” Harry replied, “but there was one thing Dumbledore neglected to tell me until the last minute: with Dumbledore gone, You-Know-Who is going to take over the Ministry this summer.” Several people gasped. “When he does, he’ll be able to put a Taboo on his name.”

“Oh, Merlin’s pants!” Cho Chang exclaimed amid an even louder chorus of gasps.

“I see some of you know what that means. For those of you know don’t, that means if you say his name anywhere in Britain, he’ll be able to find you—and through most wards. That’s why fear of a name is so dangerous. If most people refuse to say it, he can use it as a weapon against us. Unfortunately, it’s too late to change that now. It’s going to happen. So call him You-Know-Who, call him Tom Riddle, hell, call him Mouldy Shorts for all I care, but for safety’s sake, you should stop using his name now.” Harry got a few laughs from the “Mouldy Shorts” line, which softened the impact a little, but he had to go on.

“Last thing,” he said. “If we _can_ _’t_ finish this war by the end of summer—if it takes longer—for those of you who come back to Hogwarts, it’s going to be different. It’s going to be under You-Know-Who’s control, using the Ministry as a puppet. Snape’s going to be Headmaster—” He had to pause for loud shouts of indignation, but he quieted them down with a wave of his hand. “Yes, Snape’s going to be Headmaster even though he killed Dumbledore— _if_ You-Know-Who is still around. He won’t be as nasty as you think because he’ll have to keep up the appearance of Ministry control.” That was the closest to the truth he could say. “But things will be a lot nastier here than they are now, or even than they were under Umbridge. So you need to keep your heads down and be prepared to deal with that. Keep your eye on the real prize, which is ending the war…I’m not gonna lie. People are gonna die before this is over.” He looked over the room with a fierce intensity. He could see fear writ on their faces, as he was sure it showed on his own, but he also saw the same determination that he felt. “But we’re gonna make it as hard for those bastards as possible.”

“That’s right!” Neville repeated. “Dumbledore’s Army!”

“Dumbledore’s Army!” the rest of the group replied.

Harry smiled: “Thank you. It’s been an honour training with you. Good luck to you all.”

After that, he dismissed the D.A. until only his closest friends remained. They left the Room of Requirement for quite possibly the last time and headed up to Gryffindor Tower.

“You really are a great leader, you know that Harry?” Ginny asked, giving him a brief kiss.

Harry smiled softly: “I’m just doing what I have to do.”

* * *

 

Dumbledore’s funeral was held on the last day of term, as promised, but Harry almost had to be reminded what day it was because he was so busy making his own arrangements.

“Hermione, are your parents ready to move?” Harry asked as the mourners dispersed.

She nodded to him nervously. “We’ll meet them at King’s Cross tomorrow and take them with us to Headquarters. What about your relatives?”

“I already sent them a letter, and I convinced Remus to go talk to them in person to tell them to get out of town. I’m not going back there again. Even if I can’t do magic yet, it’ll be safer for me to go straight back under Fidelius instead of worrying about moving at the end of July.” Hermione, Ron, and Ginny all agreed soundly with that.

“Harry!”

He whirled around with wand drawn at the interruption, but he lowered it and groaned softly when he saw Rufus Scrimgeour limping rapidly over to him. Harry was about to tell off the Minister before he could even get a word in, but something stopped him. A wild idea crossed his mind that perhaps the questionably-legal Minister could be of use to him after all.

“I’ve been hoping to have a word…” Scrimgeour started, obviously motioning for Harry to move away from his friends.

Harry stood his ground. “I’m listening, Minister.”

Scrimgeour gave Ginny, Ron, and Hermione a suspicious look, but he went ahead with his pitch. Harry had to interrupt his circumlocutions a couple of times, but he eventually got to his point: “ _The Ministry can offer you all sorts of protection, you know, Harry. I would be delighted to place a couple of my Aurors at your service_ —”

Harry actually laughed out loud at this. “I’ll be living under a Fidelius Charm this summer, Minister. I don’t need Aurors for protection.”

Scrimgeour frowned, but he said, “I see…I am glad to see you are taking your security seriously. Have you then thought about the proposal that I made to you last Christmas?”

“The one where I tell everybody what a great job you’re doing in order to…?” Harry said.

“Raise everyone’s morale,” the Minister snapped.

“I have, Minister, and I have a counterproposal for you.”

“Harry?” Hermione asked in surprise.

“Don’t worry, Hermione, I’ve got this.”

“A counterproposal?” Scrimgeour blustered. “What do you think you are offering?”

“Minister, do you believe I’m really the Chosen One?”

“Huh?” Ron and Hermione said.

“I…?” Scrimgeour said in confusion.

“Honestly?” Harry pressed.

“Honestly…I’ve never been much of one for divination,” he admitted. “However, I have seen evidence that suggests there’s something special about you, Harry.”

“Fair enough. I suppose the better question would be, do your Aurors believe it?”

Scrimgeour thought for a moment and said, “I know that at least some of them do.”

“Good. And we both know a lot of the public believes it. So here’s the situation: Dumbledore gave me his plan to get rid of You-Know-Who once and for all. Frankly, Minister, I don’t really need your help with it expect for manpower, but here’s what I’m proposing. I will publicly state that the two of us are working together on a counter-offensive against You-Know-Who.” Scrimgeour’s eyebrows rose in surprise, which looked almost comical on his lion-like face, and he got a calculating look in his eyes. “For your part, you will authorise and encourage any Auror or Hitwizard who wants to join me to help confront You-Know-Who when the time comes. They can contact me through any of these people.” He gave the Minister a business card with several names and contact information of Order members and former D.A. Members, like Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes and so forth.

The older wizard looked like he was still calculating: “And when do you think the time will come?”

“If I’m lucky, before the end of summer.”

“And you believe you can win with this plan of Dumbledore’s?”

“I should hope so, Minister. Otherwise, I’d say you’re quite wasting your time with me, aren’t you?”

“Harry!” Hermione gasped as she watched the conversation. Ginny giggled.

Scrimgeour seemed to make up his mind: the press would be too good to pass up. “Well, Harry,” he said, “that sounds like a very generous offer—”

“Hold on.” Harry held up a hand. “I have two conditions.”

Scrimgeour immediately tensed up, his nostrils flaring in annoyance. “Conditions?” he asked dangerously.

“Number one, I want a waiver from the Underage Magic Restriction with an Apparition License effective immediately until my birthday.”

“Done,” he said, relaxing a little.

“Thank you. And number two…” This was a big gambit, since he _did_ need the manpower, but he felt he had to do it, for Sirius’s sake. “You will release Stan Shunpike from Azkaban and anybody else who’s obviously innocent. Go ahead and give them trials. If they committed any actual serious crimes, by all means, throw them back in there, but I will not tolerate people being held with trial. I’ll even throw in a few lines about how I appreciate you upholding the integrity of the judicial system.”

Even with that last concession, Scrimgeour looked as if he’d bitten into a lemon. This boy knew how to talk politics, he thought. Even so, it was a bigger prize and a rather more flexible concession than he’d offered at Christmas, and without Dumbledore around, magical Britain was that much more in need of it. “Mr. Potter, you drive a hard bargain,” he said, “but I’ll take you up on that offer.” He offered his hand, and Harry shook it, to the general astonishment of his friends.

“Thank you, Minister,” Harry told him. “It’s good to know I’ll have some Aurors backing me up. Oh, and by the way, Dumbledore said that You-Know-Who is likely to take over the Ministry this summer. You might want to prepare for that.”

Scrimgeour shivered once, but nodded. “I will keep that in mind, Mr. Potter. And by the way, yourself, I have something to give to you.” He removed an envelope from his robes. “This was delivered to the Ministry for you. We checked it for curses, but it seems to be clean, and despite the circumstances, it also appears to be perfectly legal, so I suppose congratulations are in order.”

Harry took the envelop in confusion with a weak, “Thank you, Minister.” He opened the letter, and inside was a certificate that he had received an Exceeds Expectations on his Defence Against the Dark Arts N.E.W.T., signed by Severus Snape.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter.

The Order safe house was not under Fidelius—that could turn it into a death trap if all the potential Secret Keepers died—but it was heavily warded. More importantly, almost no one knew about it, and fewer still knew who was living there. It was a remote summer cottage donated by Elphias Doge and regularly visited by only one person, and as such, it was beneath the Death Eaters’ notice.

The main contact for the two occupants of the cottage was Andromeda Tonks, but today, somebody else was making the trek, with the help of his new Apparition License. Keeping an eye out for any trouble, he walked up the garden path and knocked on the door.

A slot opened in the door, and a pair of grey eyes set in a pale face looked out. “Identify yourself,” Draco Malfoy’s voice said nervously.

“I’m Harry Potter, and I saved your arse because for once in your life you actually said ‘Please.’”

Malfoy gave a heavy sigh and replied, “Yeah, that’s you, Potter.” The slot closed, and there was a sound of a door unlocking. The young ex-Death Eater stood in the doorway, looking almost as thin and tired as he had last Christmas and very unsettled by Harry’s visit. Behind him stood his mother, her pale hair hanging limp about her face. Isolation had not been kind to either of them.

“May I come in?” Harry asked.

“Do we have a choice?” said Draco, but there wasn’t much venom in his voice anymore. They both motioned him into the room.

“Tea, Mr. Potter?” Narcissa asked.

“No, thank you, Mrs. Malfoy,” Harry replied politely. The three of them quickly sat in the living room.

“I take it this isn’t a social call, Mr. Potter?” Narcissa said. “According to the _Daily Prophet_ you haven’t been showing yourself much since school ended, and it’s not safe having too many people coming here.”

“No, it’s not Mrs. Malfoy,” Harry said. “I’ll get right to the point. I’ve been working on my plan—well, it’s really Dumbledore’s plan—to get rid of You-Know-Who once and for all. However, I’m missing one piece of information that I need to complete it, and I thought that you would have the best chance of knowing what it is.”

“Me?” she said in surprise.

“Yes.”

“What do you want to know?”

Harry fixed her with that Lily Evans stare that had served him so well over the past year. “Five years ago, Mrs. Malfoy, your husband slipped a cursed diary to Ginny Weasley.” Narcissa flinched, but he assured her, “This isn’t about that—not directly. It my information is correct, that diary was given to your husband by You-Know-Who himself, and while he didn’t say exactly what it was, he would have said that it was an artifact of great value and given explicit instructions to keep it both safe and secret. Am I right so far?”

Draco stared at his mother nervously and questioningly, while Narcissa stared at Harry in utter shock. Abandoning any pretence she might have had, she said, “Mr. Potter, how could you possibly know all that?”

“I have my ways,” Harry told her with a grin. “I have reason to believe that You-Know-Who gave a similar artifact to another Death Eater—or rather an artifact with a similar curse on it—a gold cup with a badger on it, which once belonged to Helga Hufflepuff. I need that cup to finish my plan, Mrs. Malfoy. Do you have any idea who might have it or where they might have hidden it?”

Both Malfoys stared at Harry, speechless. Finally, Draco said, “Are you serious, Potter?” Harry glared at him wordlessly.

“You’re making a lot of conjectures, Mr. Potter,” Narcissa said, “and asking a lot. Anonymity was the byword among the Death Eaters, especially in the first war. Special assignments from the Dark Lord were that much more secret.”

“I think you’re cleverer than that, Mrs. Malfoy,” Harry replied. “Sure, they wouldn’t have talked about it, but there must have been clues. Who else would You-Know-Who have trusted implicitly?”

Narcissa sighed and closed her eyes in thought. After a couple of minutes, she opened them again. “I suppose when you put it that way, it’s quite obvious,” she said with a cold laugh. “Lucius boasted about being one of the most favoured Death Eaters. My sister did not appreciate this. She was always more circumspect with secrets, but she occasionally ranted to us that she was _also_ highly favoured by the Dark Lord, perhaps even more so. I don’t know if what you’re saying is true, Mr. Potter, but I believe that _if_ the Dark Lord entrusted an artifact like that to another Death Eater, it almost certainly would have been Bellatrix.”

“Excellent,” Harry smiled. “Now, do you have any idea where she would have put it?”

“Presumably Gringotts. The Lestranges are rich, but they never had a heavily protected manor house, like we did.”

Harry’s face fell again. “Are you sure?”

“Not certain, no, but it’s certainly the safest place she could have put it. I’m sorry if that’s not of much help.”

“Very well,” he grumbled. “Thank you for your assistance. I’ll inform my friends of this development. I’ll contact you again if there is anything more.” He got up to leave. _Gringotts_ , he thought. _Why did it have to be Gringotts? How can we get the horcrux out of_ there _?_

* * *

 

It was a week before the two Malfoys heard anything more on the matter, but when they did they were surprised to find it came in the form Harry Potter visiting again to ask for some more active assistance. It seemed that after consulting with everyone he could on his side, he had only found one good way to get Hufflepuff’s Cup out of Gringotts.

“You are the closest relative of Bellatrix Lestrange who is still in good standing with your family,” he told Narcissa. “You’re also the closest relative who’s not a wanted criminal sentenced to life in Azkaban. Under Ministry Law, that means you can claim power of attorney over the management of their assets. The goblins are bound by treaty to respect that.”

“But the Ministry believes I’ve been kidnapped,” Narcissa countered. “Lucius has power of attorney over _my_ assets.”

“That doesn’t negate your standing. If you show up at Gringotts not being obviously coerced or impaired, the goblins will honour your claim above his. He would need to file papers to overrule that, and my contacts at the Ministry don’t believe he’s done that.”

“So you want me to go to Gringotts and get the cup for you,” she pressed.

“Pretty much,” Harry confirmed.

“You _do_ realise I would still need to be able to get to and from Gringotts alive, don’t you, Mr. Potter?” she said imperiously.

Harry just shrugged: “I have an apparition license and an invisibility cloak. That should handle it pretty well.”

“Outside the doors,” Narcissa corrected him.

“It’s not perfect, I admit, but there’s not a whole lot of choice.”

“No way, Potter!” Draco jumped in. “This is too much. I cooperated with you on the condition that you would keep my mother safe.”

Harry froze and turned very slowly to face the gaunt-looking boy, who flinched back. “Draco,” he said with a quiet intensity, “neither of you will _ever_ be safe until You-Know-Who is dead. This is the safest way to get the item out of Gringotts. What else would you have us do? Have your cousin Tonks try to impersonate Bellatrix? Have Neville try to _sue_ her? Kill all three Lestranges and have the Ministry confiscate their vault?”

Draco shivered and drew back nervously. “I don’t like it, Potter,” he said.

“And I don’t like involving anyone with the name Malfoy in this, but we all have to make compromises to win this war. Ma’am, are you willing to help me?”

Narcissa crossed her arms and took a deep breath, trying to match the boy’s piercing stare. As a daughter of the House of Black, she had plenty of experience with this, but Potter seemed to be able to hold his own surprisingly well. “Very well, Mr. Potter,” she conceded. “I will help you—on one condition.”

Harry didn’t need to ask what it was. “I will not place your husband’s life above those of any of my friends or allies, Mrs. Malfoy,” he told her sternly. “However, I will express my wish that he be taken alive.”

She closed her eyes and took another deep breath. “Fair enough. When would you like to do this?”

“Now, if you’re up to it. I’ve already scouted the place out. You’ll need a cloak to hide your face, but I’ve got the rest sorted.”

She nodded, albeit nervously. “I think I have something I can use…just a moment.” She left the room, leaving Harry and Draco facing each other alone.

“You’d better bring her back safe, Potter,” Draco said.

Harry resisted the urge to remind him that he was in no position to make demands and just said, “I’ll do everything I can.”

Narcissa soon returned to the room wearing an unadorned blue-grey cloak long enough to hide her face completely. “I am ready, Mr. Potter.”

“Good. Just one last thing.” Harry withdrew a tiny bottle half full of a golden potion from his robes.

“You still have the Felix Felicis?” Draco said in surprise.

“Some of it, yes. But before you ask, I need to save some of it to face You-Know-Who, so I only have enough for one of us.”

“Then give it to my mother.”

“I’m sorry, Draco, but I can’t.”

“No. I demand you give it to her. You know our deal.”

“And I will keep her safe—but not that way. I will stick close to her and protect her the best I can, as I told you.”

Draco started to make a move at Harry, but Harry had his wand in his hand in a blink, forcing the defenceless boy to stop in his tracks. “I told you my terms, Draco. Don’t think I didn’t consider it…even after everything you and your family has done to me…well, you know all about my “saving people thing.” But think about it: which one of us does You-Know-Who want dead _more_? And frankly, who’s the one who actually has to finish the job after today?”

Draco seethed, but he couldn’t give an answer to that. “Good luck, Potter,” he grumbled. “Mother, be careful out there.”

Narcissa nodded to her son: “I will.”

“Let’s go. Stay close,” Harry muttered. He downed half of his remaining potion and pulled out his invisibility cloak, throwing it around both of them before opening the door.

* * *

 

The Felix Felicis told Harry to apparate into Diagon Alley a little further from Gringotts that he’d planned to. The alleyway he chose was quiet and deserted, and when they emerged into the Alley itself, it was as empty as Harry had ever seen it. People were definitely afraid with Dumbledore gone, but it was good for him because there was less chance of bumping into anyone whilst under the invisibility cloak.

The two of them strolled up the Alley in silence—which was also a good thing. It was awkward enough being arm in arm with Narcissa Malfoy to start with. As they approached the bank, they saw the reason they had need to apparate in far away: a heavy presence of both Aurors and goblin guards was protecting it—both types who they didn’t want to be running into by accident when they apparated in. Worse yet, there was a good chance someone would check Narcissa’s identity. Harry ducked into the nearest dark alcove to the bank.

“Okay, looks like this is the closest you can get with the invisibility cloak,” Harry said. He pulled the cloak off her, keeping it on himself. “The Goblins won’t appreciate you pulling it off after you walk in the door.”

“I know this, Mr. Potter,” Narcissa said stiffly. “The question is how are we going to get past those Aurors without my cover being blown?”

Harry was familiar enough with Felix Felicis by now to know what to do: wait for a clear feeling that there was something to do and then do it without question, no matter how strange it seemed. The trouble was, right now, he wasn’t getting any such feeling. “I think…” he said, “we…wait.”

“Wait?” Narcissa said incredulously.

“That’s the feeling I’m getting. You know, I’m getting the feeling something’s going to happen…soon.”

“Soon?”

“Soon…ish?”

They waited.

“Perhaps it would be better to try this some other time,” Narcissa suggested.

“No good,” Harry told her. “I’m almost out of Felix Felicis. Just be patient. I’m sure something will happen soon.”

They waited.

Harry stepped to the edge of the street and looked towards the bank and then back the other way. “Hey, is that Professor Burbage?” he muttered, squinting at a woman in the distance.

Suddenly, three men in black robes jumped out of the shadows and began shooting Stunners at the woman.

“Hey! Death Eaters!” The Aurors yelled, and they dashed down the Alley to stop the attack.

“And there’s the something,” Harry said happily. “Let’s go.”

“For the record, I do not like this plan, Mr. Potter,” Narcissa said, but she stepped out of the shadows and started walking briskly toward the great bronze doors. Harry stayed behind her to make sure the fight didn’t get too close to her—and it was threatening to: Professor Burbage was running in their direction. One of the Death Eaters was reaching out to grab her robes—a Death Eater with a silver hand! Harry ducked behind a cart so his position would be less conspicuous and cast one spell, knowing he’d only need one: “ _Stupefy_!”

Peter Pettigrew went down just before he could grab Burbage’s robes, and she escaped into the arms of the Aurors.

Meanwhile, Narcissa had reached the doors of Gringotts. The two goblin guards crossed their axes in front of the doors, blocking her way. After all, it was suspicions when a cloaked figure stepped out the shadows and approached the building right in the middle of a Death Eaters attack.

“I have business at Gringotts today,” she said in her most formal tone. The goblins didn’t move.

“Show them your arm,” Harry whispered behind her.

Narcissa rolled up her left sleeve, revealing her bare forearm. “I have no intent to harm the Goblin Nation.” Then, one of the guards _did_ move, waving a Probity Probe over her arm, then over the rest of her, apparently pronouncing her clean, because they uncrossed their axes and let her enter. Harry followed close enough behind that he wouldn’t be caught outside.

That the goblins were neutral in the war, only caring if someone meant ill to them directly, was a real plus. From the time Narcissa walked up the counter, there were no real problems. She pulled back her hood partway and said, “As the next of kin in good standing to the wanted criminals Bellatrix, Rodolphus, and Rabastan Lestrange, I wish to claim power of attorney over the Lestrange Vault…Discreetly.” The goblins recognised her claim straightaway, and with something approximating a grin. She had to sign some papers, but they would only be filed at the bank and would only be seen if one of the Lestranges actually came into the building to do business.

The cart ride down was uneventful—certainly no extra security measures had been activated. Harry went unnoticed the whole way under his invisibility cloak. He was a little disturbed when they had to get past a horrifically-abused and half-blind dragon to reach the vault, but the vault itself was opened with no trouble.

Ten minutes later, with the help of some subtle nudges from Harry, Narcissa walked out of the vault with a horcrux. Half an hour after that, the two of them had successfully snuck out of Diagon Alley with no one the wiser.

They apparated back to the cottage, where a very nervous looking Draco jumped up to meet them when they walked in the door. To Harry’s surprise, the blond boy uninhibitedly hugged his mother in front of him. _Wow, I guess he really is human after all_ , Harry thought.

“Thank you very much, Mrs. Malfoy,” Harry said. “The cup, please.” Narcissa handed it over without complaint. “Now stand back.” Both of them quickly did. Harry didn’t want to leave this thing intact any longer than he had to. He dropped to one knee there in the living room, pulled a basilisk fang from his robes, and plunged it into the golden chalice.

There was an explosion of sound. A black mist rose from the cup and swirled around the room like a hurricane, overturning much of the furniture.

“Whoa…sorry about that,” Harry said sheepishly. He waved his wand a few times and set the major things right, but the detail work gave him trouble. “Well, Mrs. Tonks can take care of the rest,” he said. “She’s better at those cleaning spells than I am. Anyway, that was the last thing I needed. I’m ready to face You-Know-Who directly now, so thanks again.”

Narcissa’s eyes widened in surprise. “And when do you expect that will be, Mr. Potter?” she said hopefully.

“Not sure yet, but soon. I’ll come get you when it’s over.” He turned to go.

“Potter,” Draco called.

Harry turned around and raised a single eyebrow.

“Thank you…for helping us.”

“What can I say?” Harry replied. “I’m a sucker for family…I get that from my mother.”

* * *

 

At the risk of sounding cliché, Harry thought, Bill’s and Fleur’s wedding was, well, magical, but probably the most magical part for him was dancing with Ginny. He hadn’t really danced since the Yule Ball, and this, in his biased opinion, was much better.

“I’m glad you didn’t have to come Polyjuiced as my cousin,” Ginny said as they twirled around the dance floor.

“Not for your mum’s lack of trying,” Harry said with a grin. “But I can take care of myself, though.”

“I’ll say. I didn’t think anyone could stand up to her like that. I don’t think you would’ve done that a year ago.”

“Well, a lot’s changed in the past year…It’s funny. Dumbledore kept me in the dark for so long, but then when he realised he was wrong and cut it out, he got more than he bargained for.”

“I’m happy he did. I like the new you,” Ginny said, kissing Harry.

“Oi, we’re in public, you know,” Ron said as he and Hermione danced by.

“Oh, let them be,” Hermione chided, shutting him up with a kiss of her own.

 _It_ _’s a good night_ , Harry thought.

They finished out the song, and the band was just about to strike up a new number when a graceful silver lynx dropped through the canopy and landed lightly on its feet in the middle of the dance floor.

 _I spoke to soon_.

Kingsley Shacklebolt’s voice came from the lynx’s mouth: “ _The Ministry has fallen. Thicknesse betrayed us. Scrimgeour escaped, but we lost the building. They are coming_.”

Silence rippled out from the dance floor. Then, there was a loud crack and a shivering sensation as the wards around the Burrow went down. They were _here_.

Harry sprang into action. Raising his lit wand like a torch, he shouted, “Meet me at Headquarters!” Then, he pulled Ginny close and disapparated.

All around Britain, dozens of witches and wizards felt enchanted galleons heat up in their pockets, and when they pulled them out, they saw two words written on them: _IT_ _’S TIME_.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: All power in Harry Potter and Hogwarts be unto JK Rowling.
> 
> And we’ve reached the end. Can you believe I was originally going to make this story just three chapters? It’s true. But then, I wound up adding Chapters 2-4 by incorporating another story idea, the original Chapter 2 was expanded to become Chapters 5-8, and this final chapter would have been Chapter 3. Thank you all for reading. I’ve definitely been encouraged by the response.

In a section of unowned, unrestricted forest not too far from the boundaries of Hogwarts’s Forbidden Forest, Harry Potter stepped alone into a clearing. It was the middle of the night, but he knew the enemy was still moving, working to secure the major magical population centres of the country by sunup. It was time to interrupt their work.

The first part of his plan was brilliantly simple. He just opened his mouth and shouted as loud as he could, “HEY! _VOLDEMORT!_ I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME! WHY DON’T YOU COME OUT HERE AND FACE ME LIKE A MAN?”

This was brilliantly simple and not just plain stupid because Harry had just drunk his last dose of Felix Felicis and had had Hermione Granger and Bill Weasley erect some very specific wards around him. He also had some great backup…

 

 _Dumbledore_ _’s Army, the Order of the Phoenix, and a contingent of Aurors and Hitwizards led by Rufus Scrimgeour crowded into the basement of Twelve Grimmauld Place waiting to hear Harry’s final plan. The only people missing were Bill and Fleur. Harry_ _gave them option of sitting this out entirely because it was their wedding night, but they elected to take just an hour in one of the spare bedrooms while everyone else got ready. They both agreed they were in it to the finish._

_A number of the adults, most notably Molly Weasley, objected to Ginny, Luna, Colin, and the others who were underage going out to fight. Determined to end the argument quickly, Ginny challenged her mother to an impromptu duel in the front hallway, which she not only won, but also tied her up and threatened to leave her behind if she said another word about it._

_No one objected after that._ _“That’s my girl,” Harry said._

_“Alright, Mr. Potter,” Scrimgeour said, “we agreed to join with your forces. Now, what’s this plan of yours?”_

_“Okay, this is going to sound weird and even a little crazy, but I promise we’ve carefully planned it out. I am going to_ pretend _to go up against the Death Eaters alone. I need Hermione and Bill to help set up, and then you_ _’ll all be lying in wait for them to show up…_

 

Less than a minute after Harry issued his challenge, two Death Eaters apparated into the clearing. They were in their black robes, but had their masks raised. Harry recognised one of them as Dolohov, who had cursed Hermione at the Department of Mysteries. The other was a huge, blond man he didn’t know.

“Hello, boys, I’d like to have a word with the boss,” Harry taunted.

“Then let us take you to him,” the blond giant grinned. “ _Stupefy_!”

The spell sailed forth…and then splashed off the wards around Harry, to their surprise.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Harry said, wagging his finger at them. “I asked for Voldemort, and I want to see him face to face. I’m not going anywhere unless you call him.”

“Do you really think we’re gonna fall for that?” Dolohov said.

Suddenly, a beam of red light hit each of them in the back and they crumpled to the ground. A moment later, they were disarmed and bound in ropes.

“Not really,” Harry answered casually.

“Whoa, that was too easy,” Neville said.

“Only because they don’t know we know about the Taboo,” Harry replied. “And my good luck. Everybody stand back, now. This is where things get ugly.” He sauntered up to the unconscious Dolohov and gave him a swift kick in the groin. “ _That_ _’s_ for Hermione.” Then he went for his true objective: exposing his left arm from behind the ropes, Harry pressed his own wand to Dolohov’s Dark Mark. If he was right—and his luck was telling him he was—then Voldemort would recognise the magical signature of his wand and come running to the scene like a bat out of hell.

Sure enough, a few minutes later, there was a chorus of pops, and about four dozen black-robed figures appeared in the clearing. Several of them had their masks off, including Bellatrix Lestrange and Lucius Malfoy. Several others had their robes askew, as if they’d come here in a hurry. In the centre was a man with white scales for skin, slits for a nose, and glowing red eyes, whose robe seemed to swirl around him like a cloud.

“Harry Potter,” Voldemort said. “How kind of you to call on me tonight.” He waved his wand suspiciously, and the ward around Harry shimmered.

“It was my pleasure, Tom,” Harry said with a determined, potion-fuelled grin.

Surprisingly, Voldemort didn’t lash out at that name. He continued to speak smoothly, saying, “Brave words, Potter. I had hoped you might show up to my little party. But hiding behind wards? That’s bad form.” He waved his wand in a complex pattern, and then jabbed it forward. There was a blinding flash, and the wards shattered.

Harry just stood there, raising his wand lazily. “Oh, I never said I _needed_ them,” he replied. “I just wanted to make sure I got to face you in a fair duel. “You have been taught how to duel, Tom Riddle?” he mocked Voldemort’s words of two years earlier.

“You know I have, Harry Potter.”

“Good, because it’s time we settled this once and for all.”

“Not without us, you won’t! Dumbledore’s Army!” Neville cried from somewhere behind the trees, where another ward had obscured the presence of the ambushers.

“Dumbledore’s Army!” a crowd yelled, and dozens of fighters swarmed out of the trees—probably a superior force by sheer numbers, though not power. At the same moment, an Anti-Apparition Ward went up around the whole area. Harry saw Neville wielding the Sword of Gryffindor. He wasn’t sure where he’d got it, but it might come in handy.

“Potter!” Voldemort roared. He whirled around and joined the Death Eaters in firing curses at the attackers. People started going down on both sides.

“No! Stop!” Harry yelled, and he started firing any curses he could think of at Voldemort, quickly proving just how far he’d come in the past two years. Voldemort turned his attention back to him, and he immediately found himself in the fight of his life—ironic since it was a fight he needed to lose, but not just yet. A few times, their wands connected with the Priori Incantatem effect, but one or the other of them always shook it off right away.

Harry could barely see as the dense knots of attackers punched their way closer and closer to Nagini, who lashed out at anyone who got within striking distance. The Weasleys, all fighting in a tight cluster, got bogged down when Bellatrix singled them out, and Molly, in front, could barely keep her wand up against her. Harry watched in horror as she collapsed under a curse, though thankfully not a Killing one, and her husband pulled her behind him.

“No!” Harry yelled to his comrades. “I said get out!” But he knew they wouldn’t leave. This was all part of the plan:

 

_“We’re not trying to beat the Death Eaters outright, at least not at first.  The first and most important objective is to get You-Know-Who’s snake, Nagini. To do that, Ginny, Hermione, Luna, Neville, and Ron will each have a basilisk fang. I’ll distract You-Know-Who long enough for them to get close, and then one of them has to stab the snake. It’s complicated, but that’s what has to be done. The rest of you have the job of getting them past the Death Eaters to do it._

_“Oh, and secondary objective: I would like Lucius Malfoy and Severus Snape to be taken alive. However, I don’t want any of you to put their lives ahead of your own. That’s only if you get a clear shot at it.”_

 

Voldemort had him on the ropes, but he stood his ground. He had to hold this to the end. He saw Hermione push forward, but she was stunned, knocked down by a nasty Bludgeoning Hex, and nearly bitten by Nagini for good measure. A group of Aurors and Hitwizards rushed in to drag her back, but they were cut down fast. By the time they pulled her to safety, only one was still standing.

Fred and George snuck around from behind their parents and started throwing all the prank items they could at Lucius Malfoy. Meanwhile, a Hitwizard got close enough to Snape to say something to him unnoticed. But then, Fenrir Greyback picked up Luna by the collar and made ready to bite her with his still-human teeth. In response, Cho Chang and Su Li charged him and got her free with some precision hexes inherited from their Chinese ancestors.

Neville, though, seemed to be winning his fight. He swung both wand and sword like a madman, cutting a swath through the Death Eaters to get to the snake. The moment he was in arm’s reach, he swung the sword hard and sliced Nagini’s head off with a single blow.

“NAGINI! NOOO!” Voldemort roared. He whipped his wand around, no doubt to cast some horrible area-effect curse to get the killer.

Harry intensified his assault and screamed out his order: “NO! GET OUT OF HERE! I TOLD YOU I HAVE TO DO THIS ALONE! GO!”

 

 _“Now, here’s the hard part,” he told them. “Once we get the snake, I’m going to call all of you off, and you have to go. I have to deal with You-Know-Who personally—I can do it, but it has to be me alone. When I give the order, I want all of you to fall back inside the Hogwarts ward boundaries and wait for the signal. After that, rounding up the Death Eaters should be easy…well, easi-_ er _._ _”_

 

And with that, the attackers turned on a dime and fled back into the trees, picking up and carrying the wounded and dragging two people they had captured successfully: Lucius Malfoy and Severus Snape. They’d lost a few people, but it looked like Harry’s own luck was still holding out.

“HUNT DOWN THOSE COWARDS!” Voldemort ordered.

“NO!” Harry shouted. “Leave them alone, Tom! This is between you and me! I’m the one you want!”

“Hold!” Voldemort said. He looked genuinely surprised. He strode as close as he dared to Harry and examined his face. “You would stand in their place?” he hissed.

“They’re not supposed to be here,” Harry said. That was true. They _weren_ _’t_ supposed to be there right that second. “This is between you and me, Tom, and we both know it.”

“So noble, Harry Potter. Even now, when all hope is lost, you place yourself in front of them. You are more your mother’s son than I had first thought…Very well. Let it not be said that Lord Voldemort is not merciful. Those who bow to me when you are gone will be spared.”

“You’ll have to kill me first,” Harry said.

“That can be arranged.” Voldemort stepped back and took his stance. “A proper duel, as you said. Bow to death, Harry Potter.”

Harry took his stance _very_ carefully. He _did_ bow this time, but only because he also said, “Likewise, Tom Riddle.”

Voldemort hesitated, then waved his wand and said, “ _Avada Kedavra_!” Harry, however, just as Dumbledore had done before him, moved with deliberate slowness. With his seeming misstep, he closed his eyes and let the curse take him.

* * *

 

The next thing Harry Potter was aware of was lying face-down, alone, on a polished stone floor. With the carefree laziness of awakening on a weekend morning, and yet perhaps in no time at all, he became aware of his surroundings. It looked very much like a temple of gleaming white and fog…or perhaps, squinting into the light, a train station.

He had come with nothing, not even the clothes on his back, nor his glasses. They weren’t needed here, although as soon as he felt the desire for a robe, one presented itself to him, shining white, and he put it on.

The place was empty. It seemed as if his body was the only thing in it that wasn’t white and shimmering. The only thing, except…

He recoiled when he saw it—under a bench, what looked like a stillborn infant, or one nearly dead. It was bloody, scarred, emaciated, and whimpering in pain. And most disturbingly, it had the same scaly skin and lack of nose as Voldemort.

“Let it die in peace, Harry.”

The voice came from behind him, and it almost might have been the voice of an angel—soft and almost musical. Harry turned around and saw a young woman, just a few years older than he was, walking toward him—a woman with auburn hair and emerald eyes, and wearing the same blue dress she had worn on All Hallow’s Eve of 1981.

“Mum?” Harry could barely speak. She nodded, and he stood upright and ran into her arms.

She was solid. Not a vision trapped in a mirror. Not an echo called up from Voldemort’s wand. She was here. “Oh, Harry,” she whispered through her tears as he wept onto her shoulder. “My wonderful boy. My brave, brave man.”

“I’ve missed you so much,” Harry sobbed.

“I’ve missed you, too, sweetie.” She kissed him on the side of his head. “Every moment. But I’m so proud of what you’ve done. We all are.”

Harry raised his head up enough to look around, blinking away the tears. “Where’s Dad?” he asked, pulling back enough to see Lily’s face.

“Off with Sirius, pranking Dumbledore,” she grinned. “Would you believe the old man actually wanted to be the one to meet you here. I told him exactly what I thought of that idea.”

“I bet he was sorry he even mentioned it,” Harry said, returning her grin weakly.

“Oh, he was. You really have inherited my temper. Your father and Sirius wish they could be here, too, but it could only be one.”

“It was you, you know,” Harry said quickly. “You were the one who made me to get my act together—come up with a real plan.”

“I know,” Lily said. She hugged Harry again, holding him tight and stroking his hair. “I was always there for you, and I always will be.”

Harry just stood there in Lily’s arms for a while, crying again, not wanting the moment to end. But after a timeless time, his curiosity got the better of him: “So it worked, then? Dumbledore’s plan?”

“Yes, it worked,” she said softly. “Voldemort’s mortal now, and your soul is completely healed.”

“And I have to go back, then?” he said resignedly.

He looked up and saw that Lily had tears in her eyes once again. “Technically…you don’t have to…” she said, “but you know that someone has to finish the job. And you have friends back there, a girlfriend, a family in all but blood—you have a chance at a long, happy life that we never had. None of us want to see you pass that up. We’ll wait for you.”

Harry had no to answer that. He knew it was true. Finally, he forced his tongue to obey him. “And my plan?” he asked. “To finish it?”

“It’ll work,” Lily assured him. “It’s a good one. It’s true to your roots— _our_ roots. Voldemort will never see it coming.”

That was enough. As much as it pained him, Harry made his decision. “I love you, Mum,” he choked. “Thank you so much—for everything. And tell Dad and Sirius I love them, too.”

Lily nodded. “I love you, too, Harry. We all do. Always.”

* * *

 

“My Lord… _my Lord_ , please let me—” a woman’s voice said—a crooning, almost caring sort of voice that nonetheless still sounded much crueler than Lily Potter’s.

“I do not require assistance,” Voldemort said sharply. From the sound of it, he had fallen when Harry did and was just now getting up—or perhaps no time at all had passed in the land of the living. Harry lay perfectly still where he had fallen. “The boy…is he dead?” Voldemort asked. Harry heard no one speak. “Bellatrix…examine him. Tell me whether he is dead.”

Harry heard slow footsteps. Bellatrix was creeping toward him cautiously, no doubt as suspicious as her master that things had not gone according to plan. And with good reason, if she only knew. Harry had practised that fall with a Stunner from Ginny, Hermione, or Ron more times than he could count—how to stand in exactly the right way so that he would be more likely to fall facing away on his left side, thus concealing his true purpose. He was ready.

Harry waited as long as he dared, until he could hear Bellatrix’s footsteps almost upon him. Then, in a flash, he reached into his cloak and rolled over.

_BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!_

As luck would have it, Harry’s luck held out, even in death. Three deafening bangs shattered the night air, and the three most dangerous people in Britain, Bellatrix Lestrange, Fenrir Greyback, and Voldemort himself, collapsed to the ground, each with a hole of nine millimeters’ diameter right between their eyes.

Harry sprang to his feet. The Death Eaters stared at him in horror, and then…

“That’s the signal!” a voice called from the distance.

Harry swung his arm back and forth, emptying the rest of his clip into the Death Eaters before switching back to his wand. The Felix Felicis ensured that he continued to make good shots and dodge their curses. Only a few of the Death Eaters shielded themselves successfully. Many of them were still trying to break through the Anti-Apparition Ward to get away when Dumbledore’s Army set upon them once more. Leaderless, disorganised, and demoralised, the remaining Death Eaters were soon routed.

Within hours, the news spread across Britain that Voldemort was dead. People whom he had placed under the Imperius Curse regained their senses. His mercenary army, which he had not yet had time to fully assemble, scattered to the four winds, and the Ministry building was retaken in short order.

As the sun rose the next morning, Dumbledore’s Army and its allies tended their wounded and counted their dead up at the school. The Light Side had lost fifteen in the forest, including three Harry was close to: Dean Thomas, Anthony Goldstein, and Alicia Spinnet. There were three more from among Ginny’s and Luna’s year-mates and nine of the Aurors and Hitwizards who had led the charge. There were more dead at the ministry and in the other hot spots of the fighting, but it was still far, far better than it would have been if Voldemort had had time to assemble his army, so in that respect, Harry, and indeed all of Britain, could still count themselves lucky.

Harry told Andromeda to take Lucius to meet his family, and at his prompting, Professor McGonagall pulled Snape aside for a long, _long_ conversation. Bill and Fleur left as soon as Molly was awake enough to give them her blessing to get a proper start on their honeymoon, and Remus and Tonks, recently married themselves, disappeared into Gryffindor Tower, not to be seen again until dinnertime. Despite the tragedy, a lot of people felt like celebrating, but Harry felt little but relief.

It was midmorning when he found himself alone out on the viaduct, overlooking the ravine. “We did it, Mum,” he said quietly. “The war’s over. We got them—all of them. Maybe I can have a normal school year for once, huh? Ah, who am I kidding. I’m Harry Potter.”

Somewhere, he thought, his dad and Sirius were laughing at him—and probably telling him to go back inside to his girlfriend. But he could wait a few more minutes. He could feel it now more strongly than ever: after everything, his mother’s love still ran through his veins. It was different now, though. Through touching her, he could feel all of them—his father, Sirius, and, yes, even Dumbledore. Sirius was right, he thought: _“The ones who love us never really leave us.”_

“I love you too,” he whispered to the warm summer air. “Always.”


End file.
